Traitor
by I Feel Possessed
Summary: A (rather loose) sequel to "Always in My Thoughts" where Janvier's reach had proven to be long. Callen takes time off after being injured and visits Russia to discover more about Nikita Reznikov, his father. Upon his return, doubt is cast on his commitment to NCIS.
1. Chapter 1

This is a loose sequel to "Always in My Thoughts" where Janvier's reach proves to be long. By the end of the story Callen has suffered a dislocated shoulder and has found out that Janvier has discovered his CIA/KGB roots. This story picks up a few weeks after the last story ended. You should be able to follow and enjoy this story without having to read "Always in My Thoughts", but if you feel inclined I would certainly not dissuade you from reading it and of course commenting...

This story has been bubbling around since around July, only six chapters are complete so if updates fail to be regular after that time, it's because I am still writing.

Traitor – Part 1

Callen rested his chin in his left hand. He had been sitting at his desk staring at the laptop screen for the past twenty minutes without absorbing any of the information displayed before him. No matter how hard he tried to concentrate his mind had constantly wandered from the task at hand – namely to support his team from The Mission. Callen had been granted two weeks sick leave with his dislocated right shoulder, and then confined to desk work for several weeks before undertaking rigorous physical tests in order to return to the field. He had been in two minds whether to return to work after the first few days of sick leave, but the thought of being forced to spend even longer at his desk, observing his team in the field without him, filled him with dread. Instead Callen had forced himself to remain at home – well, away from the Mission at least – for the first two weeks. He had now been back for almost a week in his temporary desk bound role and the frustration was becoming evident to all.

"Mr Callen!" Hetty's voice broke through his empty thoughts and Callen quickly glanced up to find his diminutive boss peering over the screen of his laptop.

"Hetty," Callen blinked heavily, bringing himself back to reality.

"Mr Callen," Hetty stood back from Callen's desk and pushed her thick rimmed spectacles up her nose. "If you can tear yourself away from your work, perhaps you could grace us with your presence in ops?"

Callen shook his head imperceptibly as he detected a hint of sarcasm in his boss's overly polite request and he opened his mouth to reply.

"Now, Mr Callen," Hetty interjected before Callen could utter a single word. "If it's not too much trouble?"

"On my way Hetty," Callen replied. Reading the warning signs clearly, he gently closed his laptop screen and followed Hetty into the ops centre. As he surveyed the room he instinctively rubbed his right arm that was cradled in a sling.

"Is your shoulder still causing you pain," Hetty asked without turning round. "Perhaps you should have taken an extra week or two off sick?"

"No I'm fine," Callen reassured Hetty, wondering whether she really did have eyes in the back of her head. "Just aches a little every now and again."

Callen leaned against the interactive table and watched as Hetty continued walking to the back of the room where Nell and Eric were furiously tapping keys and focusing intently on reams of data. Neither turned to acknowledge his presence which he found unusual, and the main screen on which case data was displayed remained blank. Callen surmised that a new case was not imminent and he wondered what inane task was about to be requested of him.

Breaking the silence, Hetty placed her hand on the back of Eric's chair and spoke calmly to Callen. "While I don't expect you to be as enthusiastic in your temporary desk role as Nell and Eric, I have received feedback that you are proving more of a hindrance than of assistance."

"Hetty," Callen raised his left hand in a gesture of defence. "I've only been back five days and you know this isn't my strongest point. But you gotta agree my guidance on the tactical op on Tuesday was invaluable."

"Hmm," Hetty pursed her lips and maintained eye contact with her senior field agent. Callen returned her stare, forcing himself not to be the first to break away.

Silence endured for almost a minute before Nell stopped typing and turned in her chair to face both Hetty and Callen. "That was one hour out of the last week! I'm sorry Callen but you're making our job more difficult and your team more anxious – meaning you're putting their lives at risk."

Callen stared at Nell. It wasn't his choice to be holed up with the geek side of the team and he had already admitted this area was not his forte. He knew his talent lay out in the field, thinking on his feet and improvising. He was however, more than capable of thinking through cases logically and making intelligent leaps to connect previously loose ends. And he took personal offensive at the accusation that he was placing the lives of his team in danger.

"With respect Nell, Deeks just wasn't listening and I only chewed Kensi out because she failed to anticipate that a gun man could be hiding in the bushes, with a clear shot of her through the window. And I was right." Callen was now defending his professionalism and even managed to throw in the 'I told you so' type comment without a hint of superiority.

"And what about your partner?" Hetty spoke slowly and seriously, supporting Nell. "I had to send him to the boat shed to calm down yesterday. Mr Hanna was ready to knock you into next week...which is why _you_ Mr Callen, will not be here next week."

The barrage of rhetoric Callen was already rehearsing in his head fell away as the impact of those words registered. He knew he had upset Kensi and Deeks the previous day but all had been fine in the bull pen earlier. Sam however was another matter. Callen shifted his gaze uneasily between Hetty and Nell. Eric had quite rightly remained silent, facing his monitor.

"What?" Callen questioned with an edge to his voice, raising it slightly as he spoke. "You're suspending me because I've upset my team? I told it like it was – and I was right! I did not and never would place their lives in danger."

"Although you have warranted suspension on more than one occasion Mr Callen, I am not about to take any such action. At no time did you deliberately place your team in danger and you _were_ acting in their best interests. However it is the manner in which you conduct yourself which is sometimes questionable."

"The manner in which I conduct myself?" Callen repeated Hetty's words. "What is that supposed to mean?" He looked at the two women and then at the back of Eric's head. He had to have an ally somewhere he thought, realising that Eric always had his back. "Eric?" Callen asked a little too forcefully. "Have you ever felt that I've conducted myself in such a way that was questionable?"

Eric stopped typing and slowly spun his chair around to face Callen, glancing first at the two fearsome women that guarded him at either side. "Um," Eric nervously fiddled with his glasses. "No, I don't think so, that is I mean you sometimes leave us in awkward situations but that's mainly when you go off on your own, but I don't think you normally conduct yourself questionably…." Eric's ramblings trailed off as his eyes widened in an unspoken apology to Callen.

Callen grinned slightly to reassure Eric that he understood his efforts and instead turned to Nell. "And how have I made yours and Eric's jobs more difficult?"

"Yesterday Callen, remember?" Nell answered. "Not only were you guiding your team when they were perfectly capable of running the undercover operation themselves, but you seemed intent on undermining us too."

"Hetty," Callen now turned to his boss for support and raised his left hand in a gesture of defence. "I was merely offering advice and pointing out a recurring pattern in the-"

"But I had already found the pattern and was searching for names of suspects that could be connected," Nell interrupted.

"You see Mr Callen, the operations centre is a well oiled machine and surplus oil only makes a mess!"

Hetty's metaphor hung in the air and Callen's face visibly fell as he realised he was being exiled from the one place that felt like home and his family.

"Mr Callen, I am not suspending you as I mentioned earlier, however I am forcing you to take two weeks leave, all of which is time owed. Upon its expiry, you will undertake a physical to determine if you are ready for an early return to field work."

Callen shook his head in defeat. Hetty might be trying to sell his forced time off as a holiday but it certainly felt like a punishment to him. He turned back to Hetty and looked coolly at his boss, his eyes a hard icy blue. "And what am I supposed to do with two weeks leave?"

"Well, you could maybe go away on holiday?" Nell suggested lightly. "Do you surf? What about a trip to Hawaii to catch up with the 5-0 boys?"

"We met for one case, Nell, I barely know them." Callen was becoming increasingly close to walking out of the ops centre in frustration. Maybe he could find solace at the firing range. He could shoot left handed – just – so he could use the practice. As he contemplated his next move, Callen caught sight of a gleam in Nell's eyes and he suddenly realised he was being played.

"You better not have booked a vacation for me," Callen warned, wondering what devious plans the two women had already concocted for him.

Hetty arched one eyebrow. "Even I would not be so presumptuous. However I think you might approve of your destination."

"What? So you have been presumptuous and booked me a vacation." This was not making Callen feel any better. His private life was his alone to control and he rarely welcomed any inference. "What destination?" Callen asked with a heavy sigh. Hetty was playing the long game, dragging out the why's and the wherefore's.

"Russia," Nell answered.

"Russia?" Callen questioned. "Why Russia? Do we have a new case? Don't you think I'll be rather conspicuous with this?" Callen raised his right arm as far as the sling would allow.

"Is it really so long since you've taken leave that you have forgotten what a holiday is? Mr Callen, a holiday does not involve new cases – or old ones for that matter. Nell?"

Nell swivelled round and grabbed her tablet from the desk. Tapping the touch screen as she stood and moved in front of the interactive monitor, a multitude of files suddenly cascaded in front of them.

Callen skimmed the documents. Realising most were in Russian and related to Siberian labour camps, he asked sharply, "What is this?"

"Hetty asked us to look further in to Nikita Alexander Reznikov," Eric said. "The only hard evidence we managed to find was a few forms relating to his court-martial and prosecution in 1974. There is no data on which camp he was sent to, if he survived..."

Eric's voice tailed off as Callen continued to gaze at the KGB stamped documents. "So about 90% of these records are...?"

"Pure speculation and conjecture Mr Callen," Hetty said. "They are starting points for conversations you will conduct whilst in Moscow. Nell has backstopped a new alias, UCLA Professor Greg Williams who specialises in modern Russian History. He is researching a paper on the decline of the Russian Labour Camps, circa 1970-1991, and he will have a student in tow."

"Who?" Callen looked suspiciously at Hetty. Sam was out of the question, and so was Deeks. Kensi or Nell were the best bets for a student cover. Callen hoped for the former, knowing how well they worked together in the past.

"Mr Beale," Hetty replied with a cunning smile.

"What!?" Eric exclaimed. "No, I've never been to Russia and, you know Callen won't let me have a gun – not that I want one."

"Mr Beale you will accompany Callen to provide technical support, and I trust that you," Hetty paused and looked pointedly at her stunned Team Leader. "I trust that you will take very good care of him on this research mission. No weapons are required. Do I make myself clear?"

Callen starred between Hetty, Nell and Eric. This had to be the worst idea in history, he thought. Even if Hetty had chosen Nell - well at least she had _some_ field experience. Eric was not even an agent and had no fire arms experience outside of gaming. Callen shook his head, realising the exact reasons why Hetty was allowing Eric not only out of Ops, but out of the country; to make sure he did not fall foul of the Russian officials or even the FSB.

"Ok I get it. Personal time to find out what I can from official channels and then return home." Callen was already thinking that he could go back to Russia at a later date, if necessary.

"Indeed. And if I find you have caused an international incident, you will be on your own. And if you manage to get even one hair on Eric's head hurt, you will wish to God that I had suspended you instead of allowing you to traipse around Russia to find out about your father."

"I have your passports, visas and official educational letters - in Russian of course - downstairs with your electronic equipment." Nell stood and walked towards the exit, inviting the men to follow her. "Now not all the Russian Archive Offices allow laptops or even cell phones so you'll have to rely on the good old pen and paper."

"Really?" Eric's face dropped in disbelief. "But our hotel has wifi right?"

"Yes Eric," Nell reassured him. "Hotel rooms are booked and your laptop has all the software to enable you to...err...peruse the internet with ease." Nell raised her eyebrows as she smiled at Eric.

"Nell you do know that once I find the files I want to request from the archives, it will take days for the hard copies to actually arrive?" Callen already had a sinking feeling about this personal mission. For a second it hand sounded too good to be true; an opportunity to find out about his father. But the more he thought about it, the more he realised that Hetty was sending him – and Eric – on a fool's errand.

"That is why Eric will be there to assist you," the smile on Hetty's face sent a shiver down Callen's spine. Eric was there to keep him out of trouble and to use his 'technical skills' as support.

"Hetty, I can do just as good a job from Ops," Eric said. "I mean I'll only slow Callen down and I'm not sure that I'm really the best-"

"Nonsense Mr Beale, this is a holiday remember? A student research holiday in Russia, with your college lecturer."

Callen sighed and walked back towards Eric, placing his hands on Eric's shoulders. "You'll be fine. We'll be fine. We'll be in and out of the country in week. No trouble."

Eric dropped his shoulders in a gesture of defeat and look directly at Callen, feeling a little reassured by the sincerity he saw reflected in Callen's eyes.

"OK," Nell spun round and continued down the stairs. "Hotel rooms are booked in Moscow. Flight is tomorrow mid afternoon from LAX, landing in Moscow twelve hours later."

"Same time that we take off then, with the time difference," Eric now had a slight grin on his face.

"Yes. You good with this?" Callen asked Eric directly.

"Well, yes. I am if you're happy with me going."

"We'll be fine," Callen said with a nod. "Let's get this sorted."


	2. Chapter 2

The following morning, Callen called in to Ops to say he had a few personal issues to sort out before meeting with Eric and driving to LAX. In all honesty he had very little to organise in his personal life. His whole life had revolved around being able to move at a moment's notice and even though he had his own house now, nothing had really changed. Callen had to pay an acquaintance a social call first. This time round, Callen decided the direct approach was best, and he turned his Mercedes into the long winding driveway, aware his movements would be tracked all the way to the large ornate front entrance.

"I'm glad you remember how to use front door like civilised person," Arkady himself had answered the door, moving to one side to allow Callen to enter.

"I'm leaving for Russia this afternoon," Callen responded bluntly.

"Good morning Callen," Arkady watched the American agent walk in and gave him a nod, his blue eyes twinkling in anticipation of the usual verbal sparring battle the occurred between the two of them.

"Arkady," Callen halted in the hallway and turned to face the older man.

"Why you go to Russia?"

Callen raised his arm which was now back cradled in the sling he'd removed earlier to enable him to drive. "Hetty gave me leave to find Nikita Reznikov."

"Your father?" Arkady asked.

"Possibly," Callen was still reluctant to verbalise the likelihood that Reznikov was actually his father. Could he really allow himself to believe that after all these years, he finally had his father's name and knew that he was once loved and part of a family?

"And?" Arkady was happy to wait. Callen was dancing round the issue of asking him for something and there was no joy for him in making the situation too easy.

Callen stood staring at Arkady. This was almost worse than a face-off with Hetty. But at least he knew where he stood with her. With Arkady? Well, Callen was pretty sure he was on whatever side suited him at that point in time. In recent years, he and his team had fared well with information from Arkady, but who knew what the future held.

Arkady shook his head with a smile and opened his arms in a friendly and inviting gesture. "Come," he said, leading Callen into the stunning reception room that seemed a cross between a study and an upmarket bar. Arkady walked behind the marble counter and grabbed two shot glasses and a bottle of Vodka. He poured quickly and placed one glass in front of Callen.

"To old comrades," Arkady lifted the shot glass in a toast, observing Callen reaching for his glass with a sigh and a slight shake of his head. Together they downed the spirit and placed the empty glass on the counter.

"Now Callen, you tell me why you are here,"

Callen leaned against the bar. "I need information on where and how I can obtain records on Reznikov."

A smirk pulled across Arkady's lips. "And how do you think I can help with that?"

"Don't play me Arkady. You've already admitted you helped refugees set up new lives in the 70s. And I've seen your records. You didn't even join the KGB until you graduated from Kiev University in 1975. You spent a year training at the 401st KGB School in Leningrad, then worked in the Second Department for counter-intelligence before transferring to the First Department where you monitored foreigners. Oh and by the way, your early career is an exact match for Putin's."

"Well what you want me to say Callen? Many of us followed the same path in KGB." Arkady shrugged his shoulders. "So I knew Putin. What of it?"

Callen ignored the question and ploughed on. "Why would a member of the KGB help refugees set up a new life in America? Were you committing treason?" Callen started to pace slowly round the room, pausing occasionally to read a title from the floor to ceiling bookcases.

"We all do foolish things when we are young," Arkady tracked Callen's every movement.

"Or maybe they were not so foolish. You were involved in counter-intelligence so maybe you were setting up fake refugees as sleeper agents. And maybe you allowed a few genuine families escape but you wouldn't have risked it for long."

Arkady smiled and poured himself another Vodka. "I think you must be on drugs for your bad shoulder. You have good imagination."

Callen walked back to the bar and placed his hand on top of Arkady's, forcing him to spill his shot. "You knew my father, Arkady."

"Callen I have already told you that no-one has-"

"I know exactly what you said. That no-one has ever introduced themselves to you as my father. That's not the same as saying you've never met Reznikov. How about it Arkady? May be in the early 70s?"

Arkady roughly pulled his hand out from Callen's firm grip. Maintaining eye contact he shook the spilt Vodka from his right hand, wiping it on a bar cloth before placing both hands flat on the bar. He knew his next words had the potential to crush whatever trust Callen may have in him.

"I have never met Nikita Reznikov," Arkady's voice was low and steady.

"You're lying," Callen struggled to maintain composure as he mimicked Arkady's tone. He clenched his jaw, his eyes narrowing as his temper began to flare.

"I don't lie to you Callen," Arkady raised his voice slightly. "Schreiber did not know the name of the officer who saved his life. But when I joined KGB we were told stories of officers arrested for treason. I forget the names but I remembered a Rezansov but I might remember wrong. Maybe it was Reznikov..."

Callen relaxed his shoulders slightly as he could find no obvious trace in Arkday's body language that he was lying. "Where can I find the records? KGB forms, personnel records, which labour camp he was sent to? Anything?"

"I do not know, maybe the FSB in Lubyanka Square but many files are still classified or even destroyed. You need to take care old friend or y_ou _will be arrested for spying."

"Your concern is touching," Callen said with a hint of sarcasm. "But I'm more than capable of taking care of myself."

Arkady held his hands up to pacify Callen. "I know, I know. But some prison camps have not changed since the day of Stalin and if you get caught, you will be punished."

.. .. .. .. .. .. ..

Callen pulled up outside a tall apartment block, double checking the address on his cell. Not bad, he thought, wondering how much Technical Operators were paid and whether Eric supplemented his income. At one pm precisely, Eric appeared at the entrance wearing a pair of long pants and carrying a large rucksack. He dropped the rucksack at the side of the car and grabbed at his trousers. Callen opened the car door and stood, smiling broadly at Eric's predicament.

"You can't go to Russia wearing surf shorts," Callen said, hauling Eric's bag in to the trunk alongside his own carry-on luggage. "Even if you are a student."

"I know," Eric grumbled. "But it doesn't have to mean that I like it. How cold did you say it would be?"

"Probably around twenty seven degrees," Callen answered. "Give or take."

"Why couldn't you have relatives somewhere hot like California? I wouldn't even have to leave home then."

"Eric, this will be good for you. Expand your horizons, learn about the world first hand rather than from the internet and our cases."

"Now you sound like Hetty,"

"Really?" Callen asked in surprise. He couldn't really see it himself, but the one relevant comparison he could see was that both he and Hetty were well travelled.

"Well, just a little. Y'know apart from surfing trips to Hawaii, I've never been out of America."

"Hawaii is part of America Eric," Callen said, hoping that once Eric's nerves settled, his inane ramblings would cease.

"Ah yeah," Eric pushed his glasses up his nose and look suitably embarrassed. "I'm sorry Callen, just a little scared. Russia, the Cold War, Gulags – all a little scary."

Callen threw Eric his car keys. "You'd better drive," He pointed to his injury. "Hetty will only find out and there is no way I am not going back in the field in a few weeks time. And Eric," Callen paused. "You'll be fine. I won't let anything happen to you."

Eric nodded and grinned. "Good. Otherwise you might have Nell as well as Hetty to answer to."

Callen laughed, "Consider me warned! C'mon, let's get to LAX. The sooner we're in Moscow, the sooner I can get answers and we can come home."

"Cool," Eric opened the car door. "Can I buy gloves and a scarf? I don't actually own any and I think I might need them. And thermals..."

"Just get in and drive. We can pick them up in Russia,"

Eric sat down and adjusted the driver's seat and mirrors. To say he was nervous was an understatement but he had the utmost faith that Callen wouldn't let him down. In fact he was more scared about how cold the weather would be – he lived in Los Angeles for two very good reasons; sun and surf.


	3. Chapter 3

The Delta airlines flight to Moscow was uneventful. Ten minutes in to the flight Eric had asked if Callen minded if he played The Walking Dead on his PS Vita. Callen had readily encouraged Eric to play; the end result being neither had to try to make or listen to awkward small talk. Whilst Eric played, Callen read the LA Times, followed by the Russian language newspaper Kstati, published weekly in San Francisco. After that Callen further practised his Russian by studying Aleksandr Solzhenitsyn's The Gulag Archipelago. It was heavy going but provided both a fascinating and horrific detail of the history, internment and mistreatment of inmates imprisoned in the Russian labour camps. Unable to read any more, eight hours into the flight Callen finally closed his eyes and attempted to sleep. Images of forced labour camps, mixed with abuse and beatings passed through Callen's dreams and he was jolted back to reality by Eric, whose efforts to defeat the dead and undead were occasionally thwarted. Eventually Eric too fell asleep, his handheld console dropping in to his lap, zombies running wild.

Their flight landed at Sheremetyevo International Airport a little after three thirty in the afternoon. Callen had already taken the opportunity to remind Eric of his alias. With a first name of Greg, Eric could still call Callen 'G' without raising too much suspicion. And to avoid Eric forgetting to answer to his alias, Hetty had decided that Eric would still be Eric. His surname was no longer Beale, but Brown – his stepmother's maiden name. At immigration control, the two men were issued with electronic migration cards to keep with them at all times. Their Russian visas were scrutinised and they were reminded they only had permission to travel around Moscow. Passport control too was painfully slow, with Callen answering questions posed to him and Eric on the purpose of their visit and length of their stay.

Eventually they made their way to the Hertz rental desk and collected the keys for a VW Polo, an economy car suitable for a history teacher and his student on a research mission. Callen had removed his sling as soon as he disembarked the aircraft in Moscow to ensure there would be no risk of anyone refusing him permission to drive in Russia. He pulled out of the airport and headed south on the E105 towards Moscow where Nell has secured them a room at the Simonovsky Holiday Inn. Although located in the City, a car was still required for them to travel to the Archives Offices and it was hoped that the free high speed wifi at the Holiday Inn would be suitable for Eric's technical requirements.

Callen left Eric setting up his laptop in the hotel, saying he was going out for some fresh air after the long flight and subsequent drive. This time Callen did wear his sling, the biting cold causing his shoulder to ache more than he remembered. As soon as he was clear of the building, Callen pulled out his cell and dialled a number from memory. After a series of brief exchanges, he hung up and walked briskly west until he reached the bank of the Moskva River.

"Katya, it's good to see you," Callen greeted a tall woman in her late forties in Russian.

"G," Katya responded in Russian, kissing each other's cheeks in greeting. "You have not changed a bit, well a little more tired, a little heavier..."

"Whereas you have only grown more beautiful," Callen replied with a cheeky grin. "It must be about ten years since I was here last. Are you still at the State University?"

"I am, I moved from the Faculty of Political Science to History three years ago." A radiant smile spread over Katya's face and she tucked a loose strand of brunette hair behind her ears as she looped her arm in Callen's.

"Still married?" Callen asked as they strolled along the concrete pathway, following the river north.

"More than married, I now have a six year old daughter. She's very much like her father; serious and athletic."

"Damn," Callen smiled slyly. "You've just broken my heart again."

"Very funny. I received a message from the CIA that you and a colleague were arriving today. I thought you left the CIA." The earlier joviality had quickly been replaced with concern. "Why are you here Callen, what has happened?"

"I'm not here with the CIA, I've been with NCIS for a while now but I asked an old contact to reach you. I'm here as Greg Williams, a professor of history researching the final decline of the Labour Camps. I need information on a former KGB Major who was sent to a Siberian labour camp in 1974. Name of Nikita Alexander Reznikov, arrested for helping Russians and Germans escape to the West." Callen stuck to the facts as he knew them, deliberately neglecting to mention the personal element and that he was not part of any sanctioned operation.

"What is his significance?" Katya asked.

Callen dug his hands further in his pockets and hunched his shoulders against the cold, grimacing slightly as he remembered his damaged right shoulder. "We believe that as well as helping genuine refugees, a number of the people he relocated were also sleeper agents that are still active today in the States. And the Cold War is warming up again..." The lies had rolled easily off Callen's tongue, however for all he knew it could be true. He had no idea what his father's role in the KGB had been although counter-intelligence and foreign espionage would have been a safe bet and probably accounted for how his parents met.

Katya halted and turned to face Callen. "But what is his significance? How will researching Reznikov help?"

"I'm not sure," Callen admitted, quickly deciding that an element of the truth would help his cause. "Look I dislocated my shoulder during my last mission." Callen nodded his head towards his shoulder. "My boss did not appreciate my efforts at supporting the team from our HQ and decided to send me on this little errand." Callen caught Katya's eye with his best 'victim' look and continued with a wry smile, "I think it was a case of 'send me to Russia or suspend me'. Apparently I still have a lot to learn about managing people..."

"Ah I see, that makes sense now. You are annoying too many Americans so you get sent to Russia. Just make sure you don't annoy the police or you'll be sent to a labour camp,"

"You're not the first person to say that to me today," Callen was reminded of his earlier conversation with Arkady.

"That person must know you well...so how can I help?"

"I'm only here for a maximum of two weeks and I'm going to be limited with what I can find through official channels in the Archives. I need handheld bug sweeping devices, a gun, two burn phones, earwigs, floor plans for the FSB Offices and I need to know where all information on KGB traitors from 1973-5 is kept."

"I can arrange for the equipment by tonight. My CIA contact has friends in the Russian Mafia who can make sure nothing can be traced back to any Federal Agency or underground faction." Katya glanced furtively around her but the pathway was deserted.

"I need the KGB files on Reznikov. I won't leave without those." Callen insisted.

"I have an acquaintance in the FSB who may be able to help but you need to give me a few days. You can't break in. If you get caught you risk being exposed as an undercover Federal Agent. You'll be headline news world over as an example of American spies in Russia; a political prisoner. And even if you get released, your career will be over."

"If your friend can get me copies of Reznikov's files then I will leave here a happy man. And I won't even have committed a felony," a smirk crept across Callen's face as he used his old friendship with Katya to persuade her to do his work for him.

"Well that will be progress," Katya smiled back at Callen. "I guess that means NCIS haven't managed to completely house-train you?"

"Not completely..."

Katya removed her gloves and reached into her pocket to produce a notepad and pencil. She quickly scribbled down an address and pressed it into Callen's hand. "Be at this address at 10:30 tonight. A man named Romanov will meet you with the equipment. Code word is 'the thaw is coming'. Romanov only speaks Russian and won't answer the door if you are a minute early or late. Make sure you're alone."

Callen glanced at the address and nodded. "If I keep speaking this much Russian I'll forget how to speak English. It's been good to catch up Katya. Take care of yourself and your family."

"You too,"

The two briefly embraced before walking in opposite directions.

... ... ... ... ... ... ... ...

By the time Callen returned to the hotel, it had just turned seven and dusk was starting to fall. He knocked on Eric's door, announcing his name.

"What took you so long?" Eric asked, closing the door behind Callen and returning to his laptop which had been neatly set in the middle of a plain desk.

"Bumped in to an old friend," Callen said. "From the faculty of History at Moscow State University."

"Really?" Eric asked curiously, aware that Callen had a long history of foreign operations, a number of which had been in Russia and the surrounding former Soviet states. "Can he help expedite our research?"

"She," Callen paused as he watched Eric cock his head in surprise. "And she may be able to, yes. You all set up here?"

"Sure am, I was just about to dial into er, video conference Nell." Eric wavered slightly, unsure of the protocol around unsanctioned undercover operations in a country such as Russia.

"We're fine here Eric, just cover your electronic tracks," Callen reassured Eric.

"Ok," Eric tapped a few keys and a visual of the Ops centre filled the screen. "Hey guys," he called as he saw Nell and Sam assembled. "You're in early."

"Hey Eric," Nell answered. "Is Callen there with you?"

"Morning," Callen said, standing behind Eric's shoulder. "You guys catch a new case?"

"Nah G, an old cold case just got warm again. Got y'self into trouble yet?" Sam asked with a broad smile.

"Of course not," Callen feigned indignity. "Everything's by the book this time, I can't afford to be thrown out of Russia."

Sam shook his head and added. "Or thrown in a Gulag. Just remember I'm not there to save you."

"Sam you are the third person within twenty four hours to make that joke and it wasn't even funny the first time. Where's Kens and Deeks?"

"On their way in, grabbing some doughnuts," Sam added deliberately to get a rise out of Callen.

"Oh yeah, well Eric and I are on our way out to sample some of the traditional Russian culture," Callen countered.

"What like McDonalds?" Sam laughed at his own joke and even Nell stood by his side, couldn't keep a smile from twitching at her lips.

Callen muttered a phrase in Russian, causing Sam's broad smile to grow even wider.

"Whatever," Sam said. "What did you guys want?"

"Eric?" Callen prompted.

"Just checking in really, wondered if you'd managed to find anything that may help us find Reznikov?"

"Nothing at all I'm afraid. All I can confirm is that most records will be on paper and likely locked away in the deepest basements at the former KGB headquarters. Sorry," Nell apologised.

"That's Ok Nell," Callen reassured her. "I may have that covered."

"How?" Sam asked suspiciously.

"I have contacts here, nothing concrete yet." Callen did not want to divulge his secrets.

"Yeah well you just make sure those contacts are still on your side,"

"I'll be careful. We'll be in touch again tomorrow," Callen signed off and Eric cut the connection with Los Angeles. Silence enveloped the room.

Eric shut down his laptop and closed the lid. He turned in his chair and looked at Callen. "So we're off out are we?" Nerves were evident in his voice.

"Relax Eric. There's a decent restaurant a couple of blocks from here, we can eat, relax, have a few drinks and then stumble back here. This is a holiday after all."

"OK, give me ten minutes and I'll meet you in the lobby."

... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ...

The evening passed quickly and Eric was surprised at how amenable Callen was. He had known Callen a long time but rarely had the opportunity – or desire, if the truth be known – to socialise with the field agent outside of work, and never on a one to one social basis. Though conversation flowed between the two of them, Eric was witnessing firsthand how Callen was able to adapt to his undercover alias and his environment. He charmed the waitresses, joked with the barmen and even managed to barter their food bill down. His Russian was flawless and one of the waitresses who spoke rudimentary English, was convinced he really was a native. Even when he switched back to English, she remained unconvinced by his American accent. Shortly before ten, when the two men had knocked back their sixth vodka in almost as many minutes, Callen ushered Eric out into the cold night air. Stumbling slightly, Eric grabbed Callen's arm as they made their way back to the Holiday Inn.

The two men swayed into each other as they walked along the corridor to their rooms. Eric started singing show tunes and Callen loudly 'shushed' him.

"OKLAHOMA," Eric again burst in to song. "Y'know I'm from Oklahooomaaa?"

"Yeah," Callen answered with a tight smile, concentrating on trying to remain upright with Eric constantly bumping into him. "Y'know I'm not?"

"That sucks," Eric replied. "Everyone should be from Oklahoma coz it has an awesome song about it. It would be better if it had beaches with surf..."

"Beaches are cool," Callen said, grabbing the key card out of Eric's hand. After several fumbled attempts he managed to insert the card and opened Eric's door. "Here we go."

Callen eased Eric over to the bed and helped him sit down on the edge.

"Why are there two of you?" Eric asked, blinking heavily.

"I think one of me is enough! You good?"

"Yeah," Eric laid down and closed his eyes.

Callen watched Eric for a few minutes until his breathing regulated and it became apparent he was asleep. He carefully removed Eric's glasses and placed them on the bedside cabinet and took off the younger man's shoes, leaving them next to the door. Callen felt a little guilty at encouraging Eric to drink so many Vodkas especially after the drinks that had accompanied dinner and before he left, he poured a glass of water and left it next to Eric's glasses. He gave Eric one final glance and took a deep breath, readying himself for the meet with Katya's contact.

Not wanting to make his movements known to the reception staff, Callen exited the hotel by the rear stairwell and quickly made his way to the VW Polo, which he'd deliberately parked at the rear of the building. He started the engine, switched on the headlights and gave up a silent prayer that he wouldn't be stopped by the police. There was a zero tolerance on driving whilst intoxicated and Callen was well above the limit, although he could hide it well. Five minutes later, he pulled up to the curb by an old warehouse. He stole a quick glance at the handwritten address Katya had given him and checked the time. He had little more than three minutes to find Romanov.

Locking the car door, Callen pulled up the collar of his coat and placed a knitted cap on his head. His sling had been left in the hotel room. He could show no signs of weakness and needed to appear as anonymous as possible. He approached the warehouse door and rapped loudly. A light came on and footsteps echoed from what sounded like an empty building.

"What?" A voice asked gruffly in Russian.

"The thaw is coming," Callen replied in Russian.

The door opened and Callen saw a stocky bald man in his mid fifties standing before him. Cigarette smoke hung in the air, creating smooth clouds that drifted towards the ceiling. "Come."

Callen followed Romanov through the narrow hallway until they reached a door at the far end. He rapped on the door three times, waited for fifteen seconds and then repeated the knocks. A lock was turned from the other side and Romanov pushed through. Callen quickly followed. As soon as he was through the door was locked behind him and Callen found himself in the centre of the warehouse. Row upon row of metal shelves filled the large room, each shelf full of crates and storage boxes. The contents could not be determined but the overall feeling was one of claustrophobia. Romanov walked towards an oasis of desks and grabbed a box.

"Bug sweepers, a PSM with ammunition, two burn phones, earwigs," Romanov continued to speak in Russian. He took each item from the box and placed it on the table in front of Callen.

Callen picked up the PSM pistol and assessed its weight. It had been a few years since he had last handled the semi-automatic pistol and it felt strange in comparison to his US Federal issued SIG-Sauer. He nodded in approval, tucking the weapon in to the back of his jeans and stuffing the ammo in his pockets. He carefully took two earwigs and placed them in his inside jacket pocket. The bug sweepers were identical and Callen left one on the table. The two cell phones and bug sweeper were again stuffed deep into his jacket pocket.

Silently, Callen now pulled out a wad of notes and left them on the table. Romanov laughed loudly, pulling his lips back to reveal stained and crooked teeth. "No fee. A favour was called in."

Callen again nodded and replied in Russian. "A toast then?" he pointed towards the vodka bottle sitting half full on the table. "To success."

Romanov leaned and grabbed the bottle. He waved the bottle towards Callen.

"To success," he said, taking a long swig before passing it to Callen.

"Success," Callen raised the bottle to his lips and drank an equally long mouthful. Vodka was not his favourite drink but tolerance must be in his blood, he thought with a rueful smile that he kept to himself.

Satisfied that the deal had been brokered, Romanov tilted his head to a teenager who stood guard at the door. The youth unlocked the door and opened it wide for Callen. Seconds later he was outside and alone in the cold dark night. Making sure he really was alone, Callen quickly made his way back to the car and the hotel, again parking at the rear and entering the building via the back stairwell. As he passed Eric's room he paused to listen. Nothing. With a slight smile, Callen arrived at his own room just down the hallway. Making sure he locked the door securely behind him and emptied his pockets. Comms and weapons, thought Callen, not bad for an evening's work. No violence had been required and it was only slightly illegal, Callen rationalised. He set about stripping and cleaning the pistol, hoping that the rest of their stay would run just as smoothly.


	4. Chapter 4

"How come you're not hung over?" Eric said, scrubbing his hands over his face. He was pleased that his glasses hid at least some of the dark circles hanging under his eyes. The shots of vodka that had followed the previous night's dinner had affected him more than he realised, although the wine they'd consumed with the meal had probably contributed to his current precarious state.

"Vodka doesn't affect me much except the first time I drank it," Callen answered, avoiding the fact that he was skilled in not actually drinking the alcohol in front of him, and that over the years, he had actually developed a reasonable tolerance. "I was as sick as a dog."

Eric felt a little better until Callen had added that he was thirteen at the time. The two were back in Eric's room and Callen had laid out the cell phones, earwigs and bug sweepers.

"Do I even want to know where you got these?" Eric asked suspiciously. "Or when?"

"It's safer you don't know but they should do the job, right?" It was Callen's turn to question now as Eric scrutinised the electronic equipment that Callen had procured the previous night.

"Well, the cell phones are a bit dated but the earwigs and bug sweepers are top of the range." Eric switched on one of the detectors and carefully moved about his room, searching for confirmation that his room was not bugged.

"Good. Plan for today is to visit the Russian State Military Archive, see what official records they hold on Nikita Reznikov. Nell said that once ordered, any records we want could take a few days to arrive so tomorrow we go to the State Archive of the Russian Federation and repeat the process."

"You know we might find your father's father in the military records." Eric said optimistically.

"I doubt it; KGB wasn't a father-son career path. Anyway, the KGB has destroyed thousands of files over the years. We'll be lucky to find anything," Callen rationalised, well aware from past experience of how hope could so easily be dashed. If he expected the worst, he wouldn't be too disappointed when the worst happened. Callen grabbed a cell phone and earwig and opened the door. "I'll meet you in the lobby in twenty."

Closing the door, he could hear Eric commenting about paper records and he allowed himself a small smile. The next few days were going to be tedious. To maintain cover they really were going to have to scroll through rolls and rolls of microfiche, order paper copies of documents and make copious handwritten notes.

... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ...

Three days later and Callen had gathered a wealth of information on Russian labour camps in the 1970s and 80s but not one iota of data on Reznikov. He had quickly realised that having Eric accompany him all day in the archives was not the best use of the younger man's time, even less so when it came to handwritten notes. Even Callen was struggling to concentrate for such a long and intensive period, let alone having to write continuously when his shoulder was still healing. Instead he managed to befriend one of the female archive assistants and sweet talked her into allowing them to bring in a laptop.

As well as Eric being able to use his laptop, Callen also managed to acquire some extra hardware which allowed Eric to hack into the military archives from his hotel room during the latter part of the afternoons. The only solid information they had was Reznikov's arrest and subsequent sentence to a labour camp in 1974. So using 1974 as a starting point, Eric had worked backwards, studiously and methodically following every tenuous electronic lead he could. Callen, meanwhile paid Katya a visit to see if she had come good on her promise of inside FSB information.

Katya and Callen walked slowly through the grounds of Gorky Park. The weather had warmed slightly and the snow was quickly turning to slush on the broad pathways. Katya's contact at the FSB had come through and mixed in with legitimate documents, she had passed him a USB stick containing floor plans, intimate details of the building's security and locations of records pertaining to KGB traitors.

"Have you managed to find anything from the archives – officially?" Katya asked Callen as they dodged to avoid a gang of children engaging in a snowball fight.

"Well I have enough to write that thesis on labour camps but nothing on Reznikov. A colleague's working another angle but what he finds will depend on what has been transferred electronically. Or if he's still alive, maybe he can find recent records – medical..?" Callen's voice trailed off as he once again realised the futility of his mission. Maybe Hetty really had just sent him away to ensure he didn't unsettle the team and cause a nuisance in Ops.

Katya studied Callen closely and witnessed a slight hint of despair in his eyes before he looked away into the distance. "Do you know this Reznikov?" She asked tentatively.

Callen shook his head. "No."

"But this is personal to you on some level," Katya persisted. She knew how private a person Callen was but something about his story did not stack up.

Callen remained silent and the two walked on together for several minutes before Callen spoke again. "Reznikov is my father – I think."

Katya halted and grabbed Callen's left arm, twisting him around and face her.

"Your father?" She asked in amazement.

"You know I never knew my family, but I've learnt so much over the last five years. A man I knew to be Hans Schreiber had a gun held to his head as he lied and told me his name was Nikita Alexander Reznikov and that _he_ was my father. Reznikov was my father - a KGB Major, arrested in 1974 and sent to a labour camp in Siberia presumably for helping refugees escape from the East – which is how Schreiber knew him." Callen took a deep breath before continuing. "I also know I was born in Romania and remember seeing my mom shot in front of me, again about 1974 and that's all I know. I don't know how my sister and I ended up in America, why we were separated, if my father is alive, if he was imprisoned before my mom was shot or if her death led to him being arrested..." Callen tilted his head to one side and gave a slight shrug to lighten the suddenly intense atmosphere that he had just created. "So it seems I'm part Russian, part American and part Roma. My mom and grandfather were CIA, my father KGB, my grandmother a gypsy. Guess that explains a lot when you think about it."

"Wow," Katya breathed. It seemed that for as many answers her old friend had found there were just as many new questions. She rubbed Callen's arm in support. "That's amazing, well in some ways...I understand your quest but I can't let you break in to the offices of the FSB. It would be suicide, Callen."

"Maybe, maybe not. Look I'm here under an alias with the blessing of my boss but this is not a sanctioned mission. I've got a tech nerd with me who's brilliant at what he does but I can't risk leaving him stranded, so I promise I won't break into the FSB. The data you've given me will be useful for the future."

"Hmm, I know you, your promises and what family means to you. If you do come back to illegally search for your father, do not contact me. I have given you all that I can."

"You've done more than enough Katya. Thank you," Callen kissed her on the cheek and left her standing alone staring after him, as he walked briskly away.

... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ...

The day three realisation that their unsanctioned mission was in vain, served no purpose as, for fear of risking their undercover aliases, they had to continue to play the part of college professor and student. A further two days were spent in archive libraries, scanning microfilms and ordering files before Callen finally decided to call it quits, much to Eric's relief. That left a few days to officially sightsee in Moscow before returning to the US. During the evenings however, they reviewed the thumb drive Kayta had given to Callen. Eric studied the security detail, making suggestions to Callen as to the weak points, blind camera angles and potential entry and exit routes.

"You do know I'm not going to break in there tonight, don't you?" Callen reassured Eric.

"Hadn't even crossed my mind," Eric replied with a sly grin.

"I can't risk that at the moment," Callen said to remind himself of the risks as much as to reassure Eric.

"You mean because I'm here?"

"Hetty would skin me alive if I did something to get you in trouble,"

"I didn't think you were scared of Hetty and anyway I think we've already done enough to get ourselves arrested," Eric said.

Callen smiled. "Just don't tell anyone about Hetty," he responded. "And you keep saying you're the best at all this," Callen gestured to the laptops and other equipment they had illegally accumulated for hacking top secret Government websites. "So I have every confidence that you've covered your tracks meaning that you won't get _me_ arrested for your crimes!"

"I have indeed," Eric agreed. "But what I am worried about is what to do with all this."

"Leave that to me, I'll get rid of the equipment, cell phones and gun."

"Cool, but still..." Eric looked a little nervous.

"What?" Callen could tell Eric was not happy and was not going to dance around the issue.

"What about the laptop and thumb drive?" He asked.

"Is there anything incriminating on the laptop, anything that we didn't obtain through official channels?"

"No but..."

"I'll hide the thumb drive and carry the laptop all the way back to LA, if that makes you feel better."

"You'll do that?" Eric was relieved Callen had volunteered. His expertise lay in areas that did not involve lying face to face with Government or army officials, particularly ones as ruthless as the Russians, the CIA or even Homeland Security.

"Of course," Callen said seriously. "Everything will be fine, trust me."

... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ...

Good to his word, the disposal of the illegally acquired electronic equipment and gun was uneventful, as was the return drive to Sheremetyevo airport. The two Americans passed through check in and passport control with ease, settling down with newspapers and the internet until their plane departed for LAX. After a three hour delay, the flight was finally called for boarding. Their seats were in the rear half of the plan – cattle class, as Eric had so affectionately called it – and a crowd of travellers surged forward, waiting for the final passport check before jostling for hand luggage space and their allocated seats. Callen was always uneasy with large groups of people in such close proximity to him. There was no escape route and every opportunity for something unsavoury to occur. He should know; ever since he could remember, he had utilised the cover that crowds provided; for disappearing, pick-pocketing, kidnapping, murder, threats. And once again he suddenly felt a sense of unease, as though he were being watched. That was ridiculous in itself he thought, trying to pull himself out of such irrational paranoia. Of course he was being watched, he was amid hundreds of people eager to ensure the queues moved quickly lest they were the cause of further delays. Instinctively Callen ensured his hand luggage was secure, that no one could access his pockets. He casually glanced around but could see no one suspicious.

Callen remained on a heightened state of alert for the duration of the flight. He was careful not to project his concern or paranoia on to Eric, who was repeating the activities of the outbound flight; gaming and sleeping. Callen himself remained awake throughout the flight, regularly moving from his aisle seat to wander around the plane, hanging around with the smokers who could not smoke at the rear and declining all offers of alcoholic beverages. He stuck to strong coffee accompanied by a daily Russian broadsheet, speaking only when spoken to.

Upon arrival at LAX, Callen breathed a silent sigh of relief. With nothing other than hand luggage, Callen and Eric expected to sale through immigration and passport control. The queues were long and once again Callen's sixth sense kicked in. Before they had even left Los Angeles, Callen had prepped Eric that if they were to be separated or if Callen was detained in any way, that Eric was to make his own way back to America. No rescue attempts were to be made. Of course if the reverse were to happen and if Eric was detained, Callen knew he had to move heaven and earth to retrieve the team's Technical Operator.

The queue moved painfully slowly and Callen found his patience wearing thin. Several times he had turned to glare at the parents of two children who seemed to be intent on knocking their mini suitcases into him at every opportunity. The mother had apologised and half heartedly told the boys off, but to no avail.

"What do you think the hold-up is?" Eric asked Callen, rubbing his shins after one of the children decided to ram their case into him instead of Callen.

"I don't know," Callen replied. "But I do know this is why I don't like kids."

"They're just bored," Eric defended them.

"Maybe..." Callen caught a glimpse of movement to the right of the large passport control room and turned to observe half a dozen LA Airport officers congregate around their captain. Papers, presumably with a photo of a wanted person was distributed to the team and within a minute the officers had fanned out and were discretely checking out every person in the queues to passport desks.

"I don't like the look of this," Callen muttered to Eric, who looked round to see what Callen meant.

"Maybe they spotted someone from the no-fly list?" Eric said nervously.

"I think this started back in Russia. I think someone was watching me."

"Do you think your cover's blown?"

"If it is, it will be easier to explain my classified status here than in Moscow. You'd better focus on getting back to Ops in case anything does happen," Callen had lowered his voice and started to distance himself slightly from Eric. Anyone viewing the security cameras would have identified that he and Eric were travelling together. Callen could only hope that his gut feeling was correct and that it was he who was under surveillance, not Eric.

The queue was still shuffling forward and the two men were in touching distance of safety, with Eric next in line. If anything was going to happen to Eric, it would be now.

* * *

><p>Many thanks for all the favourites, follows and reviews (I especially love reading the reviews)! So keep them coming. And wishing you all a Merry Christmas.<p> 


	5. Chapter 5

"Could you come this way please sir," Callen felt his arm being firmly grabbed and sensed he was also being flanked to his left.

Turning round he saw the uniformed officers of Los Angeles International Airport Police. Both officers had their hands rested on their weapons, making it clear that he was to offer no resistance. Callen glanced back towards Eric, who had successfully made his way through passport control and had turned to observe the scene behind him. Callen nodded his head imperceptibly in Eric's direction and turned his attention back to the LA airport police.

"Of course," Callen acquiesced, adding, "please mind my right arm, I recently dislocated my shoulder."

The grip on his arm lessened slightly but remained present. Callen was led to a brightly sterile looking interview room and invited to sit at the left side of the table. His hand luggage remained with him. The two officers sat opposite, placing a file in front of them. The man to Callen's left opened it and spread out a few documents and photographs.

"I am Officer Peters," the man introduced himself and pointed to his female colleague. "This is Officer Trovelley. Please confirm your identity."

"Professor Greg Williams," Callen responded without hesitation. "I'm with the Department of History at UCLA. Wh wh what is this about?" Callen stuttered slightly as he asked the burning question any innocent lecturer would.

"A bit young to be a professor aren't you?" Officer Trovelley asked, her voice emotionless.

Callen thought quickly. Trovelley was about his age, with brown hair scraped back in to a bun that brought out the harshness of her face. Grey hairs were showing slightly at the sides and the colour of her hair at her side parting showed her hair was overdue a colouring. She would not be easy to crack no matter how charismatic Callen decided to be. Trovelley was past her prime, overlooked for promotion, keen to defy the aging process – and apparently rather unsuccessful at it. Knowing Hetty would have him out of there in no more than twenty four hours – and that was only if she was pissed at him – Callen decided Trovelley was deserving of his smart ass and annoying comments.

"I've always looked younger than my age," Callen said with a supercilious smirk. He observed Trovelley's top lip curl slightly and took perverse pleasure in this. Adding fuel to the already smouldering fire, he added. "And I managed to attain my PhD at a young age. You could say that I've been blessed. Now please, why am I here?"

Trovelley and Peters looked at each other.

"You have just arrived from Russia – Moscow." Peters stated. He waited, expecting a reply from Callen, who did not disappoint.

"That is not an answer to my question, officer. You know who I am and where I've been. Why am I here?"

Peters fiddled with the edge of the papers that lay in front of him. He looked a little unsure Callen thought, and wondered how he could use that to his advantage.

"Do you have something there I can assist you with?" Callen asked Peters.

Trovelley looked between Callen and Peters and shook her head. She had misgivings about being paired with Peters. He was green. Literally. He had recently graduated from the Police Academy and rather than gain invaluable experience on the streets of Los Angeles, he had successfully applied for LA's Airport Police.

"What was the purpose of your visit to Moscow, Mr Williams?" Trovelley asked, emphasising the 'Mr' to deliberately rile the smug man that she already wanted to slap across the face.

"_Professor_ Williams," Callen corrected. "Or you could call me Greg, I really don't mind. I'm writing a research paper on Russian corrective labour camps, specifically the declining years from 1970 to 1991. This trip was an initial recon mission, if you like, to obtain some basic information." Callen smiled at his choice of words. "I plan to return in a few months to understand the complexities of the Soviet Union, KGB, and the political climate and explore examples of specific individuals who suffered in the camps."

"You mean the Gulags?" Peters questioned, already confused as to why Callen had not referred to them as such.

"The Gulag was the name of the oppressive administration that governed the camps. It is only us Westerners who appropriated that phrase – made fashionable no doubt by popular culture. You know, movies, TV." Callen added, just in case Peters was unsure of the definition of popular culture.

"Hummp," was the only sound Trovelley could make, disliking their interviewee's condescending attitude.

Peters looked quickly at Trovelley and turned one of the documents round so it was the right way for Callen to read. He had already managed to read ninety percent of it upside down but now he took his time, reading every single word; another annoying delay tactic. A several minutes later Callen leaned back in his chair and crossed his arms.

"You think I'm a spy?" His mouth twitched, genuinely unsure whether he should laugh or frown. "This document and the photos I see in that file are figments of someone's overripe imagination."

"You speak Russian like a native and your passport shows regular trips to Russia - Moscow, St Petersburg and Kiev."

"Ah," Callen interrupted Trovelley to correct her. "Kiev is in the Ukraine."

"Where did you learn to speak Russian?" She continued, pointedly ignoring the patronising correction she had just received.

"I studied history and languages at college. I also speak Polish, Romanian and some Chechen. I found I had a natural affinity and together with my love of Russian and Eastern European history, I found my dream career before I was even twenty five."

"Who is this man?" Peters asked, pushing another photo forward.

Callen squinted and picked up the photo. There was a lone man leaning on a barrier with a camera featuring a large telescopic lens. "I don't know. Where was this taken?" Callen's gut feeling was that this was from the departure lounge at Sheremetyevo airport.

"Moscow's Sheremetyevo airport," Peters confirmed Callen's suspicions. "The Russian's arrested him after several tourists complained he seemed to be stalking them. When they examined the camera they found most of the photos were of you. They identified you from your passport and alerted us after checking flight manifests."

Callen's heart was beating fast. He was eternally thankful that Nell's backstopping had held up and that it seemed to have superseded any records that might exist of him previously being in Russia under a different identity.

"Did they identify him?" Callen pointed at the man in the picture, thinking he had to be FSB.

"Not yet, well maybe not at all. We seem to be hitting a brick wall with the Russians. They're not sharing any intel they may have gathered, apart from your details. They did seem to suggest that you may be a person of interest to us..." Trovelley took great delight at holding Callen with her steely gaze.

Callen wisely decided it was not in the character of Williams to beat Trovelley at that particular game. Instead he leaned forward, placing his forearms on the table and lowering his voice conspiratorially. "I think they might be trying to deflect the attention from themselves," he said patronisingly. "Russian counter intelligence officers of the FSB – that's the former KGB – mastered that skill during the cold war."

Without warning Trovelley pushed her chair back, the chair legs screeching sharply across the floor. She stood and started pacing around the room, looping her thumbs in her utility belt. Peters looked up at her in surprise, his mouth open slightly, unsure how he should react.

Trovelley grabbed Callen's carry-on bag and placed it on the table. "Open it." She ordered.

"Sure," Callen stood slowly so as not to appear a threat to the agitated officer and reached in his jeans pocket for the key. He unlocked the case and unzipped it, throwing the lid open.

Trovelley put on a pair of gloves and picked up a pen, rooting through the folded clothes that Callen had placed in the case fifteen hours earlier. She carefully examined the case pockets, removing the documents which Callen had stored. With an efficiency that only came from years of experience, she quickly felt round the edges and lining, looking for hidden pouches and bulges that might contain illegal contraband.

"Your laptop case," she pointed at Callen's other bag that contained Eric's laptop.

Again he silently obeyed and placed the bag on the table. This time Trovelley unzipped and opened the bag herself. Every item was removed and examined. Reams of paper now covered the table.

"We'll take the laptop so our forensic team can analyse the hard drive," Trovelley's smile did not reach her eyes.

Callen returned the smile, "Of course, just make sure you give me a receipt."

"This is all by the book Professor," Peters reassured him. "What are all these papers?"

The majority of documents strewn across the desk were written in cyrllic script. The archivists had allowed them to photocopy a fair number and mixed in with these were Callen and Eric's handwritten notes.

"Research, Officer Peters," Callen replied. "There is more on the laptop. I was restricted in what I could write." Callen looked ruefully at his right arm. "The assistants kindly allowed me to take in my laptop. You can get a translator but these all notes for my thesis. I might even look for a publishing deal with this, my first book."

"I'll take these too," Trovelley gathered up the papers. "Peters, search him."

Peters gestured to Callen to stand. Callen moved away from the table and raised his hands, moving his legs to shoulder width apart. Peters patted him down thoroughly, finding only a cell phone. Holding it out to Trovelly, he confirmed that Callen was clean. Trovelley tapped the screen. Upon finding it was locked she asked Callen for the code.

"What ever happened to my rights?" He complained.

"You are not under arrest, but I'll take this too. The code?"

"2291," Callen shook his head. The cell was not his NCIS issued phone, he would never be so careless as to take that to Russia. All the numbers stored pertained to his cover so Callen was not concerned with his cell being confiscated.

"Look, I'd really like to go home. It's been a long journey...do y'wanna call someone who can vouch for me? Or do I need a lawyer?"

"Professor," Trovelly smiled callously. "Peters and I will remove the evidence but you will remain confined to this room for the moment. We'll be back."

Five minutes later and Callen was finally alone in the whitewashed room. He relaxed his shoulders and ran his hands over his face. He looked at his watch. It was ten past eight in the evening. He had been held in the airport for three hours and he was dog tired. Callen removed his right arm from the sling and raised his elbow, slowly circling his shoulder joint. There had been no mention of Eric so Callen had to assume they had no interest in him and he had successfully left the airport. Callen could only think the fact that no-one had secured his release, meant that Hetty was deliberately leaving him here to teach him some kind of lesson.

He figured the airport police had nothing on him except to project the suspicions of the Russian authorities. And their suspicions were apparently based on photos of him taken by a 'stalker'. That no one was challenging his identity set his mind at rest, but the damning fact was that he would now be required to use the legend of Professor Greg Williams each time he visited Russia through official channels. Callen sighed and leaned back in his chair, looking at his watch again. Five minutes had passed. It was going to be a long night so he closed his eyes and drifted off.

Callen was jolted back to the real world when the door crashed open and Trovelley walked in. Behind her strode Deeks, looking sharp in a tailored suit.

"We called your Faculty but no one was available. They offered to send a Phys Ed coach but I declined the offer." Trovelley said.

"So instead you got me," Deeks smiled broadly at his audience of two. "I told them you'd be pleased to see your lawyer and please," Deeks turned his charm on for Trovelley. "You can call me Andy, no need for 'Mr Branston' or 'Counsellor', I prefer the erm, informal approach."

Deeks winked at Trovelley and strode over to where Callen had remained seated. "I thought the most action I would get with you was with your divorce hearing, but no, here you are, detained by some of our finest officers." He turned back to Trovelley and Peters, who had also entered the room. "This man is the definition of boring. You've spent time with him, can you really believe he has what it takes to be a spy, a terrorist or a double agent?"

Deeks laughed loudly and even managed to elicit a genuine smile from Trovelley. "I believe he knows more about Russia than America. Now come on Prof, I'm breaking you outta here."

Callen stayed in character and suppressed the smile he wanted to give at Deeks' performance. He stood up and turned to the officers. "This man is even more ignorant about Russia that you two. He once asked me where the USSR was in Russia."

"Yeah but I _do _know that Russians are all Vodka swilling alcoholics named Boris," Deeks again winked at Trovelley as he strode out of the room.

Callen offered his hand to Trovelley. She looked at him with an icy glare that would have reduced a normal man to tears. Callen reacted nervously and dropped his hand, breaking away from her gaze.

"Thank you," he muttered to the officers before following Deeks down the hallway, rapidly catching him up. "Vodka swilling alcoholics, huh? So you don't fancy stopping off for a shot or two before I face the wrath of Hetty?"

"Well who am I to stand between a Russian and his favourite tipple."

"Great, I know a quiet bar on the Venice beach front,"

"Done. Oh and Hetty doesn't want to see you until tomorrow. She just asked me to save your ass and get you home,"

"You sure Sam didn't say that?"

"Yeah, well maybe he did. You sure your real name's not Boris?"

Callen rolled his eyes and finally allowed himself to smile. Tonight he would have a few drinks, listen to Deeks talk nonsense and then hopefully sleep for more than a few hours. Tomorrow, he would face the wrath of Hetty.


	6. Chapter 6

**Part 2**

Callen's fears about incurring the wrath of Hetty proved to be unfounded. The next morning, just before 09:30, he had cautiously rolled in to Ops with Sam. He placed his bag beside his desk and looked over to where Hetty was pouring herself a cup of steaming hot tea. Better to get the scolding out of the way early, Callen thought as he made his way to her office.

Hetty heard her senior agent approach and placed the tea pot carefully back on its tray. She looked up briefly before reaching behind her for another cup and matching saucer. Gesturing for Callen to sit, she poured out a second cup of tea and pushed the cup and saucer in front of Callen.

"Mr Callen, I sent you to Russia on a fact finding mission. A legitimate fact finding mission to uncover information pertaining to the man believed to be your father, Nikita Reznikov. To protect your career you were given an alias, yet still you manage to attract unwanted attention. How do you explain this?"

Callen reached for the cup, cradling it in his hands which caused Hetty to frown slightly at his poor etiquette. The saucer remained on her desk. "Everything was fine until we reached Sheremetyevo Airport to come home. The flight was delayed and by the time it was called everyone was crowding to finally board. I don't know Hetty, something felt off. I felt like I was being watched but I didn't spot anyone. Then back here, just before passport control LAX airport police stopped me."

Hetty steepled her fingers and pursed her lips. "And what did they ask you?"

"They asked who I was, where I had been and why? I remained in cover and they eventually said that Russian police had arrested a man at Sheremetyevo who was caught photographing people. And by people, they meant me. They matched my image to my undercover passport and alerted LAX that I could be a person of interest - but the Russians have now gone silent."

"Hmm," Hetty pondered the situation. "This does pose a number of problems. You or rather Professor Greg Williams will have been added to a POI watch list which will make future travel to Russia problematic, certainly via commercial airlines and routes."

"I know. He's actually a useful alias but can you or Granger make a few calls? I'd hate to have to arrive in Russia and every other Eastern European country through back door routes."

"Noted Mr Callen," Hetty said. "I'll see what I can do. Now was any other information revealed or asked of you? I need to understand if your status as an undercover agent has been compromised."

Callen delayed his response by taking a sip of tea as he pondered how much information to reveal.

"What is it?" Hetty asked, sensing that Callen was holding out.

"They had documents that suggested that I – the professor – could be a Russian spy or a double agent."

"A suggestion that I hope you refuted Mr Callen, otherwise there is a whole other level of trouble heading your way."

"Of course I did. Deeks helped as well," Callen smiled. "He basically called the Professor boring and so obsessed with his work that he could never be turned."

Hetty smiled back at Callen. "Mr Deeks does have some unique attributes and an astute ability to read people and situations. I trust your alias _was_ suitably boring."

"Boring, arrogant, patronising and annoying," Callen replied with a nod, and then quickly moved on to the question which had been eating him up during the night. "Do you think there is a connection between me looking for my father and this?"

"That is a very interesting question. But I am also recalling our conversation from a few weeks ago. You told me that Patterson knew about your past, probably from Janvier. You wondered if Janvier's next move would be to cast doubt on your loyalty to this country because of your family's background."

"And you think he's starting to put those plans into practice?" Callen sighed. Janvier's reach was proving to be very long. Even from prison he was still causing problems for Callen.

"It would seem that way," Hetty replied. "You need to take extra care Mr Callen. Janvier may have access to information about you that neither of us has, and he must also have a network of contacts on the outside to put his plans in to action. I will have Nell and Eric search for chatter relating to you and your known relatives and to continue background searches in to all of Janvier's associates and everyone he has come into contact with. Beyond that, there is little we can do."

"So I have to wait for Janvier to show his hand. Great," Callen said sarcastically.

"I'm sorry, Mr Callen." Hetty shook her head slightly. "Now Eric said you managed to obtain the floor plans of the FSB headquarters..."

"Yes, a friend of a friend came through with some emergency equipment and data. I kept it all safe from Eric," Callen added quickly, after realising he had no option but to incriminate himself. He reached into his pocket and pulled out the thumb drive.

"And you kept this hidden where?" Hetty asked.

"Behind my belt buckle. Luckily they only patted me down and Eric made sure there was no trace of anything incriminating on his laptop – which the police still have, by the way."

"When Homeland Security finishes their forensic examination of the laptop, I'm sure they will be in contact to return it. Now Mr Callen, how is your shoulder?"

"It's pretty good," Callen responded honestly, rolling his shoulder to demonstrate his point. "I reckon I don't even need any physio, just send me for the physical exam and I'll be back in the field by the end of the week."

"Well well, you do sound optimistic," Hetty studied Callen. She knew he would rather avoid any further delays in returning to work and was inclined to believe that in this situation, he was probably correct.

"What can I say, I'm a fast healer," Callen said, shrugging his shoulders and with a sly smile.

"Yes indeed, Mr Callen." Hetty tilted her head slightly and smiled knowingly. "I will make a call and arrange an appointment within the next few days. Now, what to do with you during this week?" Hetty studied him and waited to hear if any super hero type requests would be made of her.

"If you trust me," Callen started, knowing the exact words to manipulate Hetty in to allowing him to get his own way. "Then I will work _with_ the team and Ops on cases, work interrogations with Sam, maybe sit on a few stakeouts too."

"Hmm," Hetty responded, well aware of Callen's stash of verbal weapons that he cunningly used when required. "Would I be correct in assuming that you and Mr Hanna made up your differences prior to your trip to Russia?"

Callen nodded an affirmative. "And I even apologised, although I was in the right." Callen couldn't help but add the last few words, smirking as he did so.

A small smile drew at the edges of Hetty's lips. She had already spoken to Sam and was happy that Callen's apology meant the two of them were fine to be left alone in the same room. "In that case I agree to your return however with regards to participating in any stakeouts or tactical ops, I will have to review these on an individual basis. The last thing I want is for you to have time off for yet another injury."

"Thank you," Callen breathed in relief. He had certainly not been looking forward to arguing his case any further, knowing full well that he would most likely lose. "I'll go and check in with the guys then."

Callen placed the fine bone china cup and carefully back on its saucer on Hetty's desk and made his way back to bull pen, leaving Hetty to ponder over events from the past twenty-four hours. No matter how careful he was, she thought, her lead agent had a tendency to attract trouble like a magnet. It was true; there was little she could do to protect Callen when the threat was unknown. She just hoped that by keeping Sam close to him, any threat would be minimal.

.. ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ...

A shrill whistle echoed through the bull pen, causing the team to look up at the balcony. Nell leaned against the rails and held their gaze before calling out that they had a new case on deck and walking back in to Ops. The team eased themselves to their feet and made their way up the stairs.

"What the hell did you do to Eric in Russia that he didn't want to summon us into Ops?" Sam asked Callen with a grin, entering through the sliding doors.

"Nothing," Callen said somewhat defensively, nodding to Eric as he walked to his usual position at the front of the interactive table.

"Yeah, right," chipped in Deeks. "I mean did you make him wear one of those big black and fluffy Russian hats, when he was drinking vodka and performing the Cossack dance?"

He looked at Eric whose face suddenly dropped in concern and he shot a worried look in Callen's direction.

Deeks caught a slight smirk on Callen's face and turned back in time to see Eric adjust his glasses before swivelling his chair so he was facing his monitor. "What? You didn't, did you Eric? Callen, did you record this, coz I reckon this would this would go viral in seconds?"

Callen stared at Deeks with a vaguely amused look on his face. "You know the saying, what happens in Moscow stays in Moscow."

"Wow, you two must really be party animals," Deeks shook his head. "I'd never have guessed. How come you didn't entertain me like that after the vodka you were knocking back last night?"

"You're just too special for that type of entertainment," Sam responded on Callen's behalf, causing the team to stifle their laughs.

"And just for the record I did not perform the Cossack dance, with or without the Russian hat," Eric now stood, holding his tablet in front of him and tapped at the screen.

"Yes but you did say Callen got you drunk on vodka..." Nell said cunningly.

"What did I tell you? Callen you are one sly dog," Deeks broke into a broad smile and he glanced knowingly between Callen and Eric. From the conversations the two of them had the previous evening in the bar, Deeks had very much gathered the impression that firstly, Callen could hold his drink, secondly that he was a hell of a lot more devious than he had ever realised and thirdly, that he had protected Eric admirably.

"New case, Nell?" Callen asked, changing the topic to avoid embarrassing Eric any further.

"Yes, thirty minutes ago we received a call that a Lance Corporal Kyle Mason had been kidnapped. He'd been granted two weeks shore leave from the USS Crossman which is docked at the Naval Base in San Diego. Mason was due to meet up with friends in Los Angeles yesterday but when failed to show, they called the base to check on him."

"So how do they know he was kidnapped?" Sam asked.

"I'm just coming to that Sam," Nell replied. She walked towards the large touch screen that covered the wall and tapped to enlarge a photo. "This picture was sent to Mason's rooming mate Lance Corporal Steven Barnes. As you can see Mason is tied to a chair and the newspaper he is holding is from yesterday."

"Why?" Callen questioned bluntly.

"We don't know yet." Nell continued, used to Callen's business like demeanour when he was focused on the job. "No demands have been made and there is nothing obvious in the photo to suggest where he might be held, by who or why?"

Eric took up the mantle. "Yesterday Mason went to Camp Pendleton to request an additional week's leave which was granted. He left there at eleven hundred hours and drove up the coast road to Huntington where he arrived an hour later. He parked up, walked to this cafe and disappeared." Eric swiped grainy video footage of a tall muscular young man entering the beach cafe just after midday. "A delivery van was parked out back and is seen driving away five minutes later. Staff reported the delivery driver burst in the back at gunpoint, overpowered Mason and dragged him to the van."

"Mason had been working with the experimental Laser Weapon System which was recently installed on the USS Crossman." Nell added.

"But that's common knowledge," said Kensi. "That weapons system has also been installed on several other weapons destroyers and it's technology other countries already have."

"Several weeks ago the vessel returned from testing in the Pacific and there's already been an attempt to infiltrate the destroyer," Nell said.

"The attempt was by Peter Rogers," Eric continued seamlessly, swiping a photo of a white man in his mid thirties on to the screen. "He was a private contractor working for C-1 Enterprises who are upgrading the power grid used by the Laser Weapon System. C-1 has been working in partnership with the DOD for twenty seven years without issue so this has really damaged the relationship. Rogers was discovered in unauthorised areas, detained by the military police and on further investigation they found large deposits of money in an offshore bank account and highly sophisticated encrypted emails. So far the other email address has proved untraceable."

"What's Rogers' background?" Kensi asked.

"Well he travelled to Russia after finishing at MIT. When he returned to the States he took a few low paid jobs in call centres for telecoms companies and in 1999 started at C-1. He was fully vetted and his time in Russia was deemed not to be a threat. They continued to monitor his electronic communications, personal travel, family, bank accounts but never found any reason to doubt his loyalty." Nell scanned the team for a reaction.

"Obviously not well enough," Deeks said referring to the fact the MPs had found hidden bank accounts.

"So the Russians have been sitting on him for all these years for an opportunity like this?" Sam asked the rhetorical question.

"Always the Russians," Callen muttered, shaking his head.

"Getting back to Mason," Kensi said. "Has there been any ransom or demands received?"

"Nothing so far," Nell replied. "The DOD has asked for NCIS involvement as Mason's uncle Jeremy Mason, is Senior Engineer in the Measurement Science Department at NAVSEA in Norco, Riverside County."

"And based on the earlier attempt, the DOD believes Russia is behind this?" Callen asked.

"You've got it in one," Eric had a wry smile on his face, realising how deflated Callen must be feeling to be handed this case after the events of the past week.

"Right, Kensi, Deeks – take a drive out to Norco to see Mason's uncle. Sam and I will pay an old friend a visit."

"On it," the other half of the field team replied and moved closer to Nell and Eric to secure the finer details about NAVSEA and Mason's uncle.

Sam and Callen exited ops and headed downstairs.

"So which of your 'old friends' are we seeing?" Sam asked.

"I thought we might start with our friend Boris at the Russian Consulate," Callen said.

"Yeah, well he wasn't too helpful last time," Sam recalled. "And what d'ya mean 'start with'? Guess that means Arkady's next on your hit list."

"Yep," Callen replied, glancing over at Hetty's desk.

Hetty met Callen's gaze and nodded her head slightly. Callen replied in kind and turned to follow Sam out to the Challenger. Hetty had already warned Callen to be exceptionally cautious earlier that morning and the nod was another reminder that he needed to take extra care. Callen wondered whether the fact there was Russian involvement in this case was significant or if he was being too paranoid. In his experience, coincidences rarely happened and his paranoia was usually justified. He just hoped this time he was wrong.

* * *

><p>Many thanks to everyone for continuing to read and review. Taking the time to comment is always appreciated and helps with the motivation to finish this one.<p> 


	7. Chapter 7

Chapter 7

The last time Sam and Callen encountered 'Boris the Russian' he had been exiting the hotel room of a rather curvy blonde. The pair correctly surmised the woman was not his wife and Nell had easily confirmed that Boris' wife was safely residing in a suburb of Moscow, back in the mother country. Before the pair left ops, they requested the 'dynamic duo' try to locate Boris. If he was in one of the properties owned by the Russian consulate then their job would become rather difficult as technically it was classed as foreign soil, albeit in America. Luckily, further intelligence received from Eric confirmed that he was once again holed up with a lady friend in a different hotel, this time in Beverly Hills.

"D'ya think this guy is ever at the Russian consulate?" Callen asked Sam as the Challenger pulled in to the hotel entrance.

Sam switched off the engine and exited the car. "Rarely," Sam replied, flashing his NCIS badge at the valet and keeping his keys tightly in his fist. For some reason today he did not fancy trusting his Challenger to valet parking, especially when the valet looked about twelve.

"Hmm maybe I should have a career change. Embrace my Russian roots, work in the consulate office and do nothing all day," Callen said to rile Sam, knowing exactly what the comeback would be.

"You already do nothing so I don't see how a career change will make any difference." Sam replied with a smile.

Callen glanced at Sam and shook his head slightly, thinking how predictable Sam was and then smiled to himself, realising how predictable he had been to have made that comment in the first place. Their partnership was based on the banter that now came naturally to them, but it had started off as barbed comments traded between the pair, a number of years ago now.

The two men walked briskly through the hotel entrance, barely acknowledging the bell hops and dodging to avoid several men in business suits who were not about to move out of the way for two men who clearly were not part of the clientele. Callen and Sam approached the reception desk and flashed their badges. Sam grabbed his cell and asked the receptionist if she recognised Boris Kozlov from his name and photo.

"Eer yes, I know Mr Kozlov, he frequently reserves rooms here. Let me check where he is today," the receptionist tapped at her keyboard. "He's in room 101 and the key card is currently checked out to him. Is he in any trouble?"

Sam interpreted the question as, 'would there be any trouble'.

"No ma'am, we just need to ask him a few questions and then we'll be gone," Sam beamed at the receptionist who smiled back, reassured by the honesty she perceived in Sam's demeanour.

Sam and Callen made their way to the first floor via the broad staircase and quickly found the right room. Callen raised his hand to rap on the door when Eric spoke hurriedly into the earwigs.

"Sorry to interrupt guys, but Sam I thought you might like to know this. There seems to be some trouble with the valet, the Challenger and someone trying to claim it as their own. You'd better get down there quick."

A look of frustration and anger flashed through Sam's eyes. He was torn between backing up his partner and protecting his beloved car.

"You good here?" Sam asked Callen hesitantly, subconsciously edging away from the door so Callen had no choice but to let him leave.

"Yeah, go. I can handle this," Callen reassured Sam, sending him on his way. He watched as Sam turned the corner and disappeared from view. "Room service," Callen knocked and waited patiently, gun ready in his hand.

The door was answered by a curvy, thirty something brunette, wearing nothing but a white bath sheet wrapped around her body. Her eyes opened wide in shock as Callen waved a gun in front of her face. She registered the determined face of man who meant trouble and looked like he would have no qualms in causing it.

"Stay here and call for Boris to come to the door," Callen ordered, placing one foot inside the doorway so the woman could not close it on him.

"Boris..." she called calmly, her eyes remained fixed on Callen as she turned her head slightly towards the room.

Callen heard grumblings inside the room and seconds later Boris appeared at the door, clad in a dressing gown. He stared at Callen in despise as he recognised the agent from the two incidents earlier in the year.

"You again, who are you?" His voice dripped with contempt.

"See I really should get a job with the Russian consulate," Callen responded, ignoring Boris' question. "I could laze around all day with beautiful women and get paid for it – oh, unless you're paying her to laze around with you..." Callen opened his eyes wider in fake realisation.

Boris edged his 'lady friend' out of the way, motioning with his head for her to retreat into the room. "What do you want?"

Callen holstered his gun and reached into his back pocket, retrieving his cell. "Where's this man?" Callen showed Boris a picture of Kyle Mason on his cell.

"I do not know, you lose him?" Boris said with a snort of derision.

"What about him? What do you know of him?" Callen now showed a photo of Peter Rogers. He carefully observed the Russian's facial expressions and witnessed the slight narrowing of eyes, a tell tale sign that Boris had recognised Rogers.

"I have never seen him before, now excuse me," Boris attempted to close the door on Callen.

Callen placed a hand on the door and moved forward slightly. "Oh you've seen him before, and I bet you know where Mason is being held. You need to be careful my friend. I would hate for your lovely wife to discover how many prostitutes you party with while she's back in Moscow, keeping house for you and your three children."

Boris took a step forward and then turned back towards the room to make sure his 'lady friend' was not within earshot, and lowered his voice. "You do not know me, now leave before I call the police,"

Callen reached into his jacket pocket and pulled free a brown envelope. He silently handed it to Boris who hesitantly opened it.

"What is this?" He asked.

"Photos of you with Lolita, Anastasia, Luscious, Jezebel – such original names – do you think they get to chose their porn star names? And the last one, you may not recognise her but that's your wife Svetlana with your children. Y'know, just in case you've forgotten what they look like."

Boris shook his head and stared at Callen in disgust. "What do you want?"

"Information on where Mason is and who was handling Rogers,"

"Wait," Boris retreated in to his room, leaving Callen in the door way.

Callen glanced up and down the hallway. No one was about and he wondered why Sam was taking so long. He cautiously pulled his weapon again. He was about to open the door wider to make sure Boris was not attempting to escape out of the window, when he returned with his wallet and some papers.

"I give you $500 cash now," Boris counted out the bills from his wallet and tried to press them into Callen's hand.

"I don't want your money, I want you to tell me where Mason is and who Rogers was reporting to," Callen pulled away slightly, again glancing down the hallway.

"Take it and burn the photos," Boris insisted, again pushing the notes into Callen's hand. On top of the bills was a hand written note with an address on it. "And don't come back."

With a swift movement which took Callen by surprise, Boris shoved him backwards and slammed the door. Callen stumbled and stood still for a moment, staring at the door Boris had closed in his face. He then turned his attention to the money and note in his hand.

Damn, Callen thought. He quickly removed the note and stuffed it in to his jeans pocket. He had to return the money to Boris but knew he would not open the door again. Kneeling down, he slid the notes under the door and back in to the hotel room. It took several minutes for him to push them all through the tight gap between the carpet and the bottom of the door.

"What'ya doing?" Sam's voice echoed down the hallway.

"Long story, what happened to you?" Callen got back to his feet and walked towards Sam.

"Long story," Sam replied. "But the short version is some clowns tried to steal my car, LAPD turned up and I had to get Hetty to verify I was a Federal Agent even though I had my badge. For some reason they thought I was one of the thieves."

"Well I can see their point. I mean you do look rather shifty," Callen and Sam walked side by side down the stair case to the entrance.

"Yeah right. What d'ya get outta Boris?"

"An address where Mason might be held," Callen said. "I gave him the envelope with the photos and he tried to buy his way out. Offered me $500 to leave him alone."

"Cheap bastard," Sam said, smiling.

"That's what I thought so I gave the money back,"

"Glad to know it takes more than a few hundred bucks to corrupt you," Sam said.

Callen gave a tight smile back to Sam, but he was worried. Sure he'd been offered bribes before and had only ever accepted the odd few that had been for the greater good, the types of bribes which maintained his cover and had enabled him to turn the tables on the bad guys. And the money was always declared and returned to the US Government as part of the operational debrief. Something had seemed a bit off this time but Callen couldn't quite put his finger on what was wrong.

"You good?" Sam asked, unlocking the car door and pausing as he opened it, observing his partner's unease.

"Yeah," Callen replied, easing himself into the passenger seat.

Sam looked over at his partner. Something was clearly worrying him but Callen being Callen was not going to talk about it. Well, not at the moment. Before Hetty had even had her one to one chat with the lead agent, she had taken Sam to one side to check that all was well in their working relationship. Admittedly, prior to the Russian trip, after Callen had questioned Sam's tactics during an operation he'd observed from Ops, Sam had been ready to rip him limb from limb. The partners had cleared the air between them before Callen had left, and Callen uncharacteristically made the first move, but Hetty's subsequent words had left Sam feeling more than a little apprehensive. Hetty had asked Sam to be especially cautious of all people and situations Callen encountered in case Janvier was still up to his games from prison.

"So where we headed," Sam asked, turning the key in the ignition and firing up the powerful engine.

"Back to Ops. I'll let Kensi and Deeks know. We'll need more info on the address Boris gave us before going tactical. According to our friend, Mason is at Unit b, at Westside Industrial Park, San Pedro,"

"You trust him?" Sam glanced at Callen as he pulled out into the busy flow of traffic. His question was met with raised eyebrows. "Yeah I know, stupid question."

"It's the only lead we have so we need to check it out properly," Callen answered.

"What about Arkady?"

"Arkady will have to wait," Callen said.

The trip back to the Mission took place in relative silence. Callen pondered over his encounter with Boris Kozlov and replayed the conversation over and over in his mind. There was nothing at all that was out of the ordinary. Boris was pissed that once again an unidentified American was asking awkward questions and Callen had then attempted to blackmail him. Boris had countered by trying to bribe him, but Callen had won through in the end and had secured an address and fed the notes back under the door. Admittedly that was a little weird but a little weirdness was almost standard in their line of work. Maybe he could have Eric trace all recent calls to and from Boris, he thought. Yes, that would settle his mind a bit. Callen relaxed and enjoyed the ride as Sam weaved in and out of the Los Angeles traffic and returned them to the Ops centre.

* * *

><p>Many thanks to you all for reading, reviewing, favouriting and following this story. Keep 'em coming :)<p> 


	8. Chapter 8

Chapter 8

Callen had called through the address to Eric during the journey back to Ops and had also relayed the latest status update to Kensi and Deeks, expecting them to be arriving at NAVSEA ready to speak to Jeremy Mason, Kyle Mason's uncle.

"We'll meet you back at Ops," Deeks said to Callen, after his senior agent had briefed them.

"I thought you were going to NAVSEA in Riverside County?" Callen questioned, exchanging glances with Sam.

"Yeah well so did we," Kensi replied. Through the tinny sound of Callen's cell on loudspeaker, the pair could hear a slight edge to her voice. "Thirty minutes in to our drive we got a call saying that Jeremy Mason was no longer on base."

"And this is after Nell made several calls this morning to make sure he _would _be there to talk to us," Deeks added.

"So what reason did they give?" Sam asked.

"Just that as a senior engineer, Mason is on call 24-7 and his presence was required at the Naval Shipyard in Virginia. You'd have thought he would at least have wanted to pick up the phone and talk to us about his missing nephew."

"Maybe they weren't all that close," Callen offered an explanation to Deeks. "But the timing does seem strange. See if Nell can find out anything more. If she gets stonewalled I'm sure Hetty can persuade Vance to lend some weight to us speaking with Mason. And speak to Eric- find out if any ransom demands have been made."

"Will do," Kensi signed off.

Sam and Callen drove on in silence for a few minutes, both lost in their thoughts on how the morning had progressed.

"I'm not liking this case," Sam spoke out, slowing the Challenger down to a snail's pace as they encountered road works.

"Me neither. Nothing is stacking up," Callen replied.

"Too right, and what's with this traffic," Sam sounded as annoyed as Kensi had earlier, which Callen picked up on straight away.

"Seems like your stress levels are a little elevated this morning," Callen sneaked a sideways look at Sam and saw him scowling, although whether that was at him, the traffic or the case was unclear. "Maybe you should take a moment and practice some of those deep breathing exercises of yours."

"Are you serious?" With the car stationary in traffic, Sam literally turned his whole body to face his partner.

"Hell yeah, last thing I need is a partner with high blood pressure who can't back me up," Callen refrained from smiling but his blue eyes sparkled with mischief.

"You wouldn't survive one day without me," Sam said pointedly and shook his head. He turned his attention back to the traffic which was about to start moving again.

"I think you'll find I'm pretty self-sufficient," Callen countered, determined to annoy Sam as much as possible.

"I think you'll find that you're not pretty and you actually _need_ me," Sam responded without delay. He had no idea why Callen always pushed his buttons but this time he had hit the nail on the head. He was frustrated with this case, mainly fuelled by the fiasco with his Challenger outside the hotel earlier.

"Wow, thanks for that," Callen feigned a kicked puppy look before perking up. "By the way, 'handsome' is the word you are struggling to find, it's so much better than 'pretty'."

"Y'know what G? I've found the word and it's-"

Before Sam could utter the choice word to describe how annoying Callen was right at that moment, a motorbike cut in front of him. Sam slammed on the brakes and slapped his hand on the horn, holding it down much longer than necessary as he vented his all round frustration.

"Yep," Callen said with a smug smile on his face. "Deep breathing exercises Sam..."

... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ...

Twenty minutes later the pair arrived at The Mission. They walked into the bull pen to see Eric tapping away at his tablet to bring up a satellite view of a business park on the monitor. Kensi and Deeks were leaning on the desks, sipping on their coffees.

"What do we have?" Callen asked, approaching the screen to study the aerial view.

"The warehouse is located in an industrial area several miles from the port of San Pedro," Kensi replied. "It's surrounded by a number of other units and any approach will be easily spotted by anyone driving by or looking out the windows."

"Some of the buildings look pretty rundown," Deeks added. "So if they're vacant, well that could go in our favour."

Nell came bounding down the stairs, calling for the team's attention. "Guys I've managed to tap in to the industrial centre's CCTV systems, searching for any unusual activity from midday yesterday onwards. I concentrated on delivery vans matching the one seen driving away from the cafe and came up with this, forty five minutes later."

She tapped her tablet several times and the video footage appeared on the TV screen for the team to see. A blue transit van pulled in front of the warehouse, turning round and reversing up to the delivery doors. The driver jumped out and opened the van's sliding side panel. He shouted and gestured wildly, slammed the door closed and climbed back in the driver's seat. A minute later the delivery doors rolled open and the van reversed inside, disappearing from sight.

"Someone's obviously in the back of the van, judging by how animated the driver is," Deeks observed.

"I took a screen dump of his face and it's running through facial rec at the moment," Nell said. "No hits yet."

"Do we have any idea how many men are inside?" Kensi asked.

"Negative," Nell replied. "The building doesn't seem to have any cameras, which is unusual. My guess would be that's why it's been chosen."

"Makes sense," Callen said to himself. He raised his voice to address the team. "There'll be at least three of them; one to watch Mason and two to stand guard, front and rear."

"What's that?" Sam said. He pointed to a small walkway adjacent to the next building.

"Well it seems to follow round from the rear of the warehouse next door," Eric responded.

"It looks like there's a bridge connecting the two buildings, maybe we could use that to breach the warehouse," Deeks suggested.

"Have you got the building's blueprints?" Callen asked Eric who instantly picked up his tablet. In less than a minute, intimate details of the building's set up were displayed before them.

Kensi moved closer, raising her finger to point as she thought out loud. "We need to cover the bridge as well as the front and rear exits. Eric can we get LAPD support?"

"Sure," Eric responded.

"I'll make some calls," Deeks offered.

"The area is open so if they're expecting a breach, they'll be expecting it at night," Callen thought aloud.

"So we go in, in broad daylight," Sam said with a knowing smile.

"Sounds good to me," Callen nodded his head in approval. He turned to Nell. "Did you have any luck with Kyle's uncle, Jeremy Mason?"

"Stonewalled by Washington, so Hetty's on the case. I've also been monitoring all electronic communications connected to both Mason's as well as scanning for chatter relating to kidnapped Americans. There's nothing at all. No mention of anything from any radical groups and no ransom demands have been made – certainly as far as we can tell." Nell chewed on her bottom lip, not happy about the lack of progress she had made.

"I'm not liking this case," Sam repeated his words from earlier and Callen turned to look sharply at his partner. Gut feelings were usually correct in this line of work and Callen had to admit that he agreed with Sam. Something was off. But they did have an address where Lance Corporal Mason may be held.

"I'm not liking this either," Callen admitted to his team. "Eric, Deeks, make those calls to LAPD. We'll be in the armoury."

"Hey, are you sure Hetty's cleared you for tactical ops?" Kensi asked, following Callen who was already walking rapidly towards the armoury.

"Yes I'm sure," came the confident response from Callen as he continued walking with one purpose in mind – to ensure Hetty did not spot him and confine him to Ops.

"I'm not so sure," Sam muttered to Kensi, who smiled and shook her head, knowing that if it came down to it, Callen would only listen to Hetty.

... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ...

Two hours later and with LAPD back up, the NCIS team raided the warehouse. The raid was quick and efficient and within minutes it was clear the only occupant was Mason tied to a chair with a gag covering his mouth. Nell and Eric had monitored footage of the warehouse and surrounding roads and could find no evidence of anyone having left in the build up. In fact the only vehicle to have left was the van that had transported Mason to the building in the first place. The team could only surmise that when the van had pulled out of the warehouse with only the driver visible, the rest of the bad guys were safely hidden from sight in the rear.

"Do you think Boris tipped them off?" Sam asked, his arm resting on his assault rifle which was slung across his body.

"I don't know, but I don't trust him," Callen replied cautiously.

"G, you don't trust anyone," Sam said, thinking that once again gut instinct seemed to be playing a heavy part in this case.

Callen held Sam's gaze and tapped his ear. "Eric,"

"Yes Callen," Eric said from the Ops centre.

"Can you put a trace on all calls made and received by Boris Kozlov since we arrived at the hotel this morning? No, make that over the past two weeks. And do the same with calls in and out of the Russian consulate and the Embassy – all locations in the US."

"Sure thing, I'll soon find out what Boris the Russian has been up to, don't you worry," amusement was evident in Eric's voice as he signed off to search phone records.

"What did I say Callen?" Deeks asked as he and Kensi wandered over to where Sam and Callen were conversing. "All Russians are called Boris, and I bet he just loves Vodka."

Callen shot Deeks a withering look and raised his eyebrows. This case was making no sense but Deeks was right in some ways – there was a very strong Russian connection, whether it was from a man named Boris or some other powerful arm of the Russian Government. Callen realised it was time to pay Arkady that visit which had been intended for earlier.

"I think we need to see Arkady next, but how's Mason doing?" Callen asked.

"He's fine considering," Kensi responded. "A little bruised from where he was forced in the van but the EMTs have confirmed he's fit for interview."

Kensi glanced towards the warehouse entrance. The large roller doors were now fully open and an ambulance together with several squad cars filled the space immediately outside. Mason was sitting on the rear steps of the ambulance, talking calmly to an EMT and LAPD officer.

"In fact he barely seems affected," Kensi said, looking back at the team.

"He's a marine," Sam commented. "It's how he's trained to behave."

"Interesting," Deeks said, cocking his head.

"What's interesting?" Sam asked.

"That soldiers are trained to respond in certain ways..." he trailed off, realising it would not be wise to remind Sam that dogs were also trained to behave. "I mean it makes it even more scary when that training breaks and a soldier cracks..."

"You been spending time with Nate again?" Sam was unsure whether Deeks was mocking him or being deadly serious.

"Just thinking," Deeks replied, grinning slightly at the confusion that was written across Sam's face.

"Well Dr Freud," Callen said. "Why don't you and Kensi take Mason to the boatshed and find out what happened and why. We'll see what Arkady knows about Russians named Boris"

"See Callen, you have to admit know that even you are obsessed with Russian's named Boris,"

"Deeks!" Callen glared at their LAPD liaison officer, who held his hands up in a mock gesture of defeat.

"I'm going, I'm going..." Kensi grabbed Deeks' arm and pulled him towards her SUV. "I'm gone...and have a vodka for me..."

Callen let out a loud sigh and turned towards Sam, a worried look in his eyes.

"Y'think Arkady'll have anything?" Sam asked.

"I hope so. Unless Mason knows something, Arkady may well be our last hope," Callen responded. His last chat with Arkady had been rather accusatory on his part, and he hoped the former KGB agent was in a forgiving mood.

They walked together to the Challenger. Sam opened the trunk and the pair removed their rifles, performing the routine safety checks before laying them in the cases. Callen was unstrapping his thigh holster when his cell rang. He removed it from the pocket of his Levi's and looked at the incoming caller. He took a deep breath and answered with a more positive tone than he felt.

"Hetty, did you manage to get anywhere with Director Vance? Can we speak to Jeremy Mason yet?" Callen thought it best to get his questions in first, attempting to deflect Hetty's thoughts away from the fact he had gone tactical with his team without running it past her first.

"Mr Callen, so glad you did not manage to compromise your team's safety." Hetty's manage to convey concern for Callen's well-being, with a voice that dripped with sarcasm.

"Hetty I can explain."

"I'm sure you can, Mr Callen, however you can explain in person. I need you back at Ops now," Hetty left no room for argument.

"But why? Sam and I were about to follow up on a lead," Callen knew it was fruitless to argue with Hetty but it was in his nature to at least try.

"That lead will have to wait. Return to Ops Mr Callen, I need to see you in my office immediately," Hetty hung up and Callen just stared at his cell.

"What the hell was that about?" he asked Sam, opening the car door and easing himself into the passenger seat.

"I have no idea, but it sounds like you're in trouble," Sam turned the key in the ignition and didn't even try to hide the broad smile that had crept onto his face.

"I'm glad you find this so amusing," Callen said.

"Oh I do. And you know what? I'm gonna drive us back to Ops with no stops, and then I'm going to deliver you right to Hetty's desk,"

"You would escort me right in to the dragon's den and then leave me there to die?" Callen questioned Sam's loyalty.

"Oh yeah," Sam pulled away from the warehouse and drove through the industrial estate. "I could do with a new partner. I think you've just about worn me out."

"Really? And who would you prefer? Deeks? The guy would drive you mad within an hour?" Callen leaned his elbow on the window frame.

"And you think you don't?" Sam retorted.

"That leaves Kensi then," Callen said thoughtfully. "Which would leave me with Deeks..."

"Oh yeah baby, what goes around comes around," Sam said in glee.

"I can handle Deeks," Callen said.

"Really? But can he handle you?" Sam was now smiling broadly as he pictured the team's most challenging agents paired up.

"Let's just get back to ops, before you start pairing Kensi and Eric up for field work," Callen raised his eyebrows in exasperation.

"Don't you worry, I'll deliver you to the dragon's den as promised," Sam beamed. "Then I might pay Arkady a visit for you."

"Y'know he won't speak to you," Callen reminded Sam that Arkady was rather particular with who he spoke with.

"That's why I'm taking Kensi with me," Sam's broad smile morphed in to a calculating smug smile. "You know Arkady will do anything for a pretty face."

"You're playing dirty," Callen complained.

"I know," Sam replied. "I have to, being partnered with you."

"Fine," Callen gave up. "Just drive."

Sam presses his foot hard on the accelerator and the Challenger shot forward. They would be back at The Mission within forty minutes and Sam was dying to see what trouble Callen had landed himself in with Hetty this time.


	9. Chapter 9

Chapter 9

Sam held open the heavy re-enforced wooden door, allowing Callen to enter The Mission first. He let the door swing closed behind him and followed Callen through the wide hallway until they reached the bull pen. Callen veered off to the right and headed for the coffee machine. Sam shook his head slightly, looked up towards Hetty's office and then back at his errant partner.

"Hetty, we're back," he called loudly.

Hetty raised her head and looked at Sam, a knowing smile passed her lips as she caught Sam's eye. Sam nodded his head in the direction of the coffee machine and took the few paces to his desk. Moving the chair back to allow room to manoeuvre, Sam sat down without so much as a glance in Callen's direction.

Callen meanwhile, hovered around the coffee area and deliberately took his time. He knew leaving his back to Hetty was risky and potentially dangerous, but he had no desire to speed up the process of getting his ass chewed for disobeying orders, having gone tactical without permission. Callen took a sip and grabbed a newspaper as he walked back to his desk. He was taking another sip when Hetty's voice broke through the calm of the bull pen.

"Mr Callen!"

Her voice was so sharp and sudden that Callen jumped and spilt his scalding drink over his hand. He tightened his lips and refrained from swearing.

"Hetty," he said graciously, wiping a wet hand on his jeans. "I didn't hear you."

"Obviously. I've booked in your physical assessment for nine sharp tomorrow morning. However I will also ask that they test your hearing as this appears to be the third time you haven't heard me in the last twenty-four hours."

Callen stared at Hetty, lost as to what she was referring.

"You really want to do this here, Mr Callen, rather than in my office? Very well. Firstly you clearly did not hear what I said about partaking in tactical operations with your team, secondly you clearly did not hear me say that I required you to return _immediately_ to my office – as I find you lounging around, drinking coffee and reading newspapers. And thirdly, how could you not have heard me approach you just now?"

Hetty had not allowed Callen to get a word in edgeways and instead of appearing suitably contrite, he sighed deeply and looked into the distance before returning his gaze to focus on Hetty.

"Hetty-"

"My office, Mr Callen. Now." Hetty turned her back on Callen and walked towards her office.

Callen now looked at Sam, whose attention remained firmly on his laptop screen. He rolled his eyes, and clutching his coffee cup, followed Hetty to her office.

"Sit," Hetty ordered.

"Sorry," Callen said, going through the motions as he sat himself down in front of Hetty's desk.

"Yes," Hetty replied, not believing Callen's apology for one second. "Now there has been an interesting development in one of our more recent cases."

"What? Mason's kidnapping?" Callen was confused; he had heard nothing to the contrary from any member of his team or from Ops.

"He's being questioned in the boatshed and that case is causing me some concern, a concern which I believe is shared by the rest of the team. However just as worrying is the information which has come to light involving Anton Zevlos."

"Zevlos, the Romanian war criminal..?" Callen stopped short of saying 'Zevlos was the one we apprehended and handed off to the CIA, as they were incapable'. After all, his team had deliberately disobeyed Hetty's direct order and all three male field agents had earned a day's suspension.

"Yes that one, Mr Callen, another blip on your service record." Hetty paused for effect, which was not lost on Callen, who this time did manage look suitably contrite. "Further evidence has been uncovered by the CIA regarding the extent of Zevlos' human trafficking. It has been confirmed that he formalised Romania's human trafficking ring, creating false adoption papers for babies and children. A few of these children were sold to wealthy childless couples in the West, but most were sold to the forced labour or sex trades, and to be used as organ donors."

"But Hetty we already know that."

"Mr Callen, the additional evidence shows that Zevlos worked with the Comescu's during the 80s," Hetty explained patiently.

Callen sighed inwardly and wondered if he would ever be rid of that family. "So? We know the Comescu's were involved in people trafficking so it's logical the two were connected. And Amy and I were in the US by 1975..."

"But we have never known how you and your sister arrived in America, or why. Mr Callen, whilst following paper trails from Zevlos back to the Comescu's, the CIA found evidence dating back to 1974 which state you and Amy were sold by the Comescu family to a Canadian couple; a couple who were found murdered in their beds in America three years later. Subsequent investigations confirmed they were Russian sleeper agents."

"But we were in the system long before 1977, the papers must be wrong." Shock and confusion registered on Callen's face as a number of scenarios played through his mind, all of which contradicted the thoughts he had just verbalised.

"The murders can now be linked directly to the Comescu's. By all accounts the 'Canadian couple' Freddie and Grace Turner, were less than satisfied with their new children; the boy – you – refused to speak and Amy cried whenever you went out of her sight. The Turner's quickly realised you were both too problematic and approached the Comescu's for a refund. When that was not forthcoming the Turner's carried out their threat of abandoning you two at opposite ends of the country. You were found in Maine, just a short hop from the Canadian border. Your sister – was deposited in Los Angeles."

"And the authorities never connected one abandoned child in Maine, with one in California," Callen said, thinking out loud.

"Indeed, Amy had no idea of your whereabouts and your social services records state you didn't talk for almost six months."

"No," Callen said forcefully. "That can't be true. We know my father asked Reinhardt to keep track of us. How could he have done that if what you said is true?"

"There is another scenario, Mr Callen." Hetty hesitated. This theory was entirely her own and purely based on speculation and circumstance. "It won't make for easy listening and there are no facts to prove or disprove my theory."

"Go on," Callen said. He was reluctant to hear Hetty's private thoughts; although they can't have been any worse than the numerous scenarios he had created himself over the last forty years.

"Your mother was making plans for her and her family to escape Romania. In her call to me there was no mention of your father, Nikita Reznikov, but she was desperate to escape back home to America. That may have been because you father was already fleeing or had been arrested as a KGB traitor. Your father helped refugees escape to Western Europe. He would have had a network of contacts – probably even connections with the Comescu's." Hetty held up her hands to stop Callen from interrupting. "Please, hear me out...he most likely had a plan b, using the Comescu's as a backup should the CIA fail Clara. And by utilising his connections with the Comescu's, by simply telling them her name, your father inadvertently wrote your mother's death warrant."

Callen closed his eyes and rubbed his hands slowly over his face. He wondered whether Hetty had any more bombshells of information to detonate above his head. Her reasoning was logical, although there were a number of question marks around her theory. He opened his eyes and folded his arms defensively.

"Surely my father would have told my mom the Comescu's were plan b? Why did she not recognise their name?"

"I can only assume that your Grandmother never passed down that story."

"No," Callen shook his head. "That makes no sense at all. My grandmother was Roma, a gypsy. There is no way she would _not_ have told my mom about the Comescu's. Blood feuds are part of Romani culture."

"Don't forget that after your Grandfather was murdered, your Grandmother fled to America with your mother. She wanted to escape Romania and the gypsy blood feud, so maybe she thought it best to not pass on that aspect of her family history," Hetty said gently. She did not have all the answers for Callen, but she had spent a long time analysing the information she had acquired over the years.

"OK," Callen sighed. "But surely my mom would have told her mom that she was going back to Romania,"

"Your Grandmother died before your mother received her assignment from the CIA. If my hypothesis is correct, then the Comescu's killed your mother and took you and your sister, saying they were helping your father."

"Even if that's what happened, I still don't get how Reinhardt found me," The more he heard, the more Callen was struggling to understand the scenarios Hetty had placed before him. Sure, some of them made sense, but when each scenario was placed in the linear narrative of his early life as he knew it, certain sections did not add up.

"Reinhardt owed his family's life to your father and was forever indebted to him. Reznikov must have made contact with Reinhardt to request he looked out for Clara and her family. In the 70s, the Comescu's would have had set shipping routes they routinely used, which your father would have known and told Reinhardt about. I believe he systematically searched records and newspapers before he discovered you were at the first children's home in South China, Maine. Have you ever considered how close to Canada your early homes were? South China is a four hour drive from the port of Saint John, a four and a half hour drive from Quebec City. You know it was two years before I found you, and I had more resources at my fingertips than Reinhardt. And by that time you'd already covered half of the North East America with your foster homes. You were well and truly in the system when the Comescu's exacted their revenge on the Russian sleeper agents. The Comescu's couldn't cover the entire United States looking for two young children, even if they were Callen's. But you realise it would've been much more difficult for Reinhardt to find you had the CIA extraction gone ahead; Clara would have been debriefed for weeks in some obscure safe house, especially after going to ground for so many years."

"Why were you instructed to abort?" Callen asked, although he suspected he knew the answer.

"I was never officially told," Hetty replied. "However, if the CIA had discovered that one of their assets had re-emerged after a six year disappearance, and had two children fathered by a Major in the KGB..."

"And if the CIA realised the extraction was due to take place in front of the home of known WWII war criminals..." Callen finished for Hetty. He looked up at her, uncertainty flashing across his face. "Even if half of that is true, all that time I must have spent with my sister crossing the Atlantic and with the Canadians," Callen paused. He clenched his jaw and looked Hetty in the eyes. "Why can't I remember my name?"

The plaintive question struck Hetty to the core, and she answered him tenderly. "I'm sure you know why. You witnessed your mother's murder, your father disappeared, you and your sister were shipped to Canada, probably confined in a shipping container, given new names by a strangle couple and then ripped from each other and abandoned in a foreign country. Within a short space of time, you were so traumatised that your young mind protected itself with a form of amnesia. The only other option is that you suffered a head injury –but the end result would be the same; amnesia."

Callen shook his head. Discoveries about his family in recent years had unlocked a few early memories but he still failed to understand why, all these years, he had no other recollections. With the exception of the single memory of Amy pushing him and his falling from a cart, he still could not remember his sister. His only memory of his mom was seeing her murdered. Of his father, there was nothing. Of the journey to Canada and the Russian sleeper agents he and Amy were sold to – nothing. Everything was a blank. His earliest constant memory was of his first home in Maine. He had been five years old.

"But I want to remember," Callen pushed back his chair and stood. He stared at Hetty with icy blue eyes and raised his voice in anger. "If my mind is protecting itself, then why the hell can I remember every single detail of every single day I was in foster care," he broke away from Hetty's gaze and turned his head towards the floor. "Do y'know there are times when I would gladly have given myself a head injury if I had known it would wipe out some of those memories."

"Mr Callen, the inner workings of the mind is still a great mystery to even those most advanced in the medical and scientific profession. Nate is due back later this afternoon and I strongly recommend that you and he have a chat."

Callen turned to face Hetty, again shaking his head. "And what good will that do," he said bitterly. "I still won't remember who I am or who my family was."

"Nate can help you in other ways," Hetty said. Callen was usually so matter-of-fact about his past. To witness him displaying so much bitterness and anger underlined how much he repressed his emotions on a day to day basis, and how much his search for the truth about himself meant. "You have just received shock news about your early childhood and Nate can help you work through that, and help with your anger management," Hetty realised she was now pushing Callen but sometimes the harsh truth was required.

"I do not have anger issues," Callen kept his voice low and quiet, unsure what game Hetty was now playing and certainly not appreciating her words.

"Mr Callen, you are not the only one on my team to have problems controlling their temper."

"Well focus your attention on Deeks, I'm fine," Callen said with an intuitive guess. "...and I'm not about to shoot anyone or beat them to death in anger," he added as an afterthought, thinking ironically that the only reason he wasn't about to do that was because he'd already killed all the Comescu's he possibly could.

"Your temper and attitude has a tendency to land you in trouble, Mr Callen," Hetty continued to speak calmly as she attempted to rationalise her stance on referring him to Nate.

Well maybe that's what's kept me alive all these years, otherwise I'd be in some mental institution, Callen thought. But then again maybe he had been in a way. He thought back to how the welfare state had at times tested his own sanity to the limits and bleakly wondered how he seemed so normal now – in comparison.

Hetty held Callen's gaze, daring him to contradict her. However without uttering another word, Callen turned his back on his Operations Manager and walked towards the exit.

"Bugger," Hetty muttered, watching her lead agent leave. Sometimes a few home truths helped people see sense, although she might have known that it would have an adverse effect on Callen. Hetty sighed and reached for her tea. She knew Callen liked to think that he was a man with simple needs, but she could just not comprehend why he did not recognise the layers of complexity that made up his character. She knew he needed time to digest the information she had given him, and that once again, Callen was going to try and sort through his problems on his own.


	10. Chapter 10

Chapter 10

Callen drove his Mercedes fast down the freeway, not caring where he headed. Every time he managed to come to peace with himself over the latest catastrophe that was his life, someone always pitched a curve ball towards his head. He considered Hetty's theory. The more he thought about it, the more it made sense. On his return from Romania a few years ago, he had constantly wondered why his mother had been happily sitting on the beach, merely a stone's throw from the Comescu compound. Callen recalled her laughing – definitely not the behaviour of someone who felt threatened or in danger. For a while it hadn't mattered to him _how_ he and his sister arrived in America or ended up in the welfare state; he had finally known who his mother and father were and that for a short time he had been part of a loving family. He had clung on to that thought for months and relished in the comfort it had given him. Damn Hetty, Callen thought, slamming his hand against the steering wheel. He thought about the real culprits responsible for his harsh upbringing and he swore aloud in Russian at the Russians and then cursed the Comescu's in Romanian, which was the closest he could muster to the Romani language.

Catching sight of an LAPD patrol car ahead, Callen decelerated fast. The last thing he needed was to be caught speeding and he realised that in his present frame of mind he would likely get arrested for assaulting a police officer. And it would be a toss-up as to whether that would be verbal or physical assault. That would really prove to Hetty that he needed therapy for anger management, he thought sarcastically, and would probably earn him another suspension or worse. Taking a deep breath, Callen grabbed his cell and speed dialled Ops.

"Hey Callen," Eric answered.

"Eric, I need to find Arkady, where's his cell?"

"Give me a few minutes...you know Sam is looking for you?" Eric asked.

"Just call me when you have Arkady's location," Callen hung up. The last thing he needed was for Sam to get on his case, and if Sam was looking for him then Hetty probably was too. Callen swore to himself again as he realised he'd been too abrupt with Eric. The tech operator always had his back and really wasn't deserving of his bad mood. Callen took a deep breath, reached for his cell and rang Eric back.

"Callen," Eric said rather tentatively.

"Sorry Eric," Callen apologised. "I shouldn't have hung up, but Arkady will give me more information if I'm on my own." He decided that a half truth would at least pacify Eric, even if he did end up telling Sam where he was headed.

"Hey, that's OK. I've found Arkady, he's at the Langham Huntington in Pasadena."

"Thanks Eric," Callen signed off as he looked for the next exit ramp to make his way to the hotel.

... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ...

It was shortly after 4pm when Callen arrived at the hotel and he quickly dialled Eric again to confirm Arkady's exact location. The Langham was a large hotel covering twenty three acres, and whilst he could assume Arkady was dining in one of the fine restaurants, he was sure the staff would not want him darting in and out of each of them until he found him. Callen's attire did not really fit the dress code of the Langham; scruffy Levi's, old, scuffed Blundstone boots and a light grey T-shirt. They were clothes that cost him less than a bread roll would in these restaurants, he thought wryly.

Eric confirmed Arkady was in the Terrace so Callen flashed his badge at the receptionist and asked for directions. Following her concise instructions, Callen walked along several corridors, took a right turn and was then stopped in his tracks by the maitre'd. He discretely showed his badge and pointed to a table in the restaurant's interior. In the far corner, set against the full length windows that looked out to the patio, sat Arkady. And he had company.

Callen approached the men and studied the faces at the table. There were four men, including Arkady who was sitting to the left. The two men to his right looked like they could be Russian Mafia. Arkady caught sight of Callen and lifted his head in greeting, causing the fourth man who had his back to Callen, to turn and face him. Boris Kozlov.

"Callen," Arkady stood and held out his hand to Callen who accepted with a firm handshake.

"Arkady," he said, staring at each of the three faces which were now assessing him.

"Let me introduce you, this is Viktor Volkov and his colleague Yegor Petrov." The two men remained seated. Viktor was portly with white, receding hair. Callen reckoned he was in his mid 60s and very much old school. His colleague Yegor was around the same age as Callen himself, but tall and stocky – and he looked slightly familiar. He wasn't muscular like Sam but he would certainly be a challenge in a fight. Callen did not offer his hand but merely gave a slight nod of acknowledgement to both men as Arkady continued. "And this is Boris Kozlov. Gentlemen, this my good friend Callen."

Arkady neglected to mention which line of business any of the men were in, something which Callen hoped may go in his favour until Kozlov spoke.

"Your 'good friend'," Boris pointed to Callen, "is a Federal Agent, maybe CIA, he tried to blackmail me this morning. You should keep better company, Kolcheck."

"Boris," Arkady waved his right hand dismissively. "You know how it works. I do him favours, he does me favours. Business, nothing more. We know each other for long time."

Viktor Volkov smiled and said to his colleagues in Russian, "if he blackmails Russian officials and does favours for ex-KGB, he could be a useful contact for us."

Arkady interjected in Russian. "Be careful what you wish for, my friend here is full of surprise. Do not underestimate him." Switching to English, he turned his attention to his American friend. "Callen, sit please." Arkady pointed to the free space next to him and snapped his fingers to attract the attention of a nearby waitress. "You thirsty, eat?"

Callen surveyed the collection of Russians in front of him and decided it would be interesting to play along. His bad mood was slowly dissipating and there was no way he could quiz Arkady about the personal nature of two specific Russian sleeper agents from the mid 1970s with the current company.

"Sure," he said without a smile, ordering coffee from the waitress as he sat down. "So what do you guys do for a living?"

Viktor & Yegor shifted in their seats slightly. "We are business men," was the non-committal response.

Callen looked at both of them. "And what line of business would that be?"

"I am in financial securities and my colleague here is in travel," Yegor responded.

So Russian Mafia, specialising in fraud, extortion and human trafficking, Callen thought. Arkady kept remarkable company and Callen was thankful that despite this, the former KGB officer had always appeared to be on his side. He stared at Yegor, willing his mind to associate the face with a place or a meeting in his past.

"Where have we met?" He asked Yegor directly.

Yegor smiled slightly and spoke slowly in reply. "I do not know you. I would have remembered if we'd met."

Callen narrowed his eyes at the sinister undertone to Yegor's words, accepting the unspoken challenge. "No, we've met before...and I _will_ remember."

Arkady glanced at the two men who were sizing each other up across the table. "Come now, we all friends here, no? I know Yegor for one year now, he helps with my security business. He is good man, like you Callen."

Callen and Yegor continued to stare at each other, neither willing to back down and break the deadlock.

"And you Mr Callen?" Viktor interrupted, deliberately moving the conversation away from Callen's suspicion of his colleague. "Which agency are you with?"

"The agency that deals with security," he answered, as vague with the truth as his new Russian acquaintances.

He broke away from Yegor's stare and thought quickly; he _knew_ the younger man from his past. Callen rarely forgot faces or names and he realised it would only be a matter of time before he could place him. Maybe that was the problem, maybe he couldn't place Yegor because his name and face did not marry up? He could wait. If he was on Arkady's payroll, he could be found anytime, day or night.

"The agency that deals with security," Viktor repeated Callen's words with a shrewd smile. "CIA, FBI, NSA, Homeland Security? You Americans love your agencies and your letters..."

"Take your pick," Callen responded. He was relieved that very few people associated the Naval Criminal Investigative Service with Federal Agencies.

"Not FBI," Viktor ruled out. "They only wear cheap suits. Maybe CIA?"

"Yes," Arkady laughed. "Callen does not wear suit, maybe one day you will afford sharp clothes like me, yes?"

"Not on my salary," Callen responded, tilting his head in Arkady's direction.

"Perhaps I can help with that?" Viktor said candidly.

So Viktor seemed very keen to play his hand, Callen thought. He wondered if Arkady had mentioned him in previous conversations as Viktor was being almost too open and trusting. Either that or he was a long term acquaintance of Arkady's. If he was involved in people smuggling there was a possibility he could prove useful but of course that depended on how long he'd been involved with that particular game.

"Which area of travel are you in?" Callen asked to deflect attention away from him.

"The area that deals with moving people from one country to another, to satisfy their desires," Viktor answered, keeping in line with theme of evading direct responses.

"Excellent, now we know what we do, we eat," Arkady said. His eyes flitted between each of his companions as he analysed the suspicious turn the conversations were taking. "Yegor," he spoke in Russian. "Where have you met Callen?"

"I do not know. I do not think our paths have crossed, but I would very much like to get to know him." Yegor threw Callen a hard stare as he answered Arkady, still avoiding English.

Callen followed the conversation and remained silent. Now was not the time to reveal he was fluent in Russian, especially if Arkady could persuade Yegor to reveal more about himself. Instead he decided to try and get some information pertinent to his team's latest case.

"My work in securities," Callen addressed Yegor in English, "has brought me into contact with the development of Laser Weapons."

"An interesting area for the military," Yegor admitted. "But there are no secrets – the US and Russia have both developed and successfully tested Laser Weapons on war ships over recent months."

"What interests me is the sudden technological leaps the Russians have made," Callen said.

"Yes," Boris Kozlov interrupted. He had remained silent during the words between Yegor and Callen. He did not like the American and he certainly did not trust him. He had only just met Yegor and had already formed similar opinions to Callen about him. "Our scientists and engineers made a number of advances through research."

"Research through private contractors on US war ships," Callen met Boris' hard glare and then addressed the rest of the table. "Boris here helped me out with some information this morning about Peter Rogers and Lance Corporal Kyle Mason. As a result he helped saved an American life. Now that's what I call cooperation between our countries."

"You blackmailed me for that information and I paid you to leave me alone," Boris raised his voice in frustration.

"No you didn't," Callen responded calmly, refuting the payoff but leaving the comment that he blackmailed a government official out there for the Mafia to ponder.

Boris shook his head and smiled knowingly at Callen who pointedly ignored him and turned his attention to Viktor Volkov. "How long have you been in travel?" He asked Viktor.

"Long time, since forty years," Viktor poured himself a coffee from the pot the waitress had just refreshed.

"You must have met a lot of people in that time. And how long you have known Arkady?"

"Many years," Viktor said, raising his coffee to his lips and blowing slightly before taking a sip.

Back to that old game, Callen thought. Without asking them directly about Mason or revealing his own personal agenda, this conversation would go on for hours, forever dancing round in circles.

"What information did you give him Boris," Yegor asked in Russian, concern etched over the younger man's face.

"The address where the America could be found," Boris replied, in his native tongue.

"That is good. But he does not know why Mason was taken. Stupid Americans can only link it to Laser weapons. They are so short sighted."

"I just did what I was told," Boris said surly, throwing a glance at Callen. "I know nothing."

"Me neither my friend, I only hear whispers," Yegor replied.

"But this agent is also interested in my line of business," Viktor joined in. "I think a separate meeting with this man is in order. He's the type to not think twice about blackmail, bribes and he has ended many lives – just look at him. For the right price, I think we can use him."

The conversation in Russian was watched in amusement by Arkady and Callen, who shared a discrete look. Arkady was not about to burst the bubble of the men besides him by warning them that Callen was fluent in the language, not if Callen himself did not want that information to be general knowledge.

So Boris Kozlov is nothing more than a stooge, Callen thought. He had been ordered to pass on the address where Mason was held but for what purpose? To throw the US off the scent of what? From the short conversations it would seem that Laser weapons were not the real target. And if Viktor thought he would betray his country – well, Callen could easily turn that to his own advantage and make Viktor think he was getting what he wanted, when all the while Callen was reaping the rewards of Russian Mafia intel on criminal activity.

"My friends, we should not be rude to our guest, please, speak English." Arkady admonished his compatriots in Russian, fully aware of how ironic this sentence was for Callen.

"My apologies," Viktor switched back to English and bowed his head at Callen. "It was rude of us to exclude you from our conversation."

Callen was about to respond when he spotted movement from the corner of his eye. Sam had found him and was approaching his table rapidly, a look of thunder was spread across his face.

"What the hell do you think you're doing?" he asked aggressively.

"Drinking coffee," Callen lifted his coffee cup to prove the fact. "Care to join us?"

"I don't think so. We've gotta go."

"Go where?" Callen asked.

"I'll tell you on the way," Sam said, leaving little room for argument.

"Fine," Callen stood and acknowledged his new acquaintances. "Gentlemen."

Three of the four Russians watched Callen walk away from their table with a mixture of frustration and curiosity on their faces. Arkady merely looked amused, and turned his attention back to entertaining his guests, figuring Callen would pay him another visit in the not too distant future.

"What was all that about?" Callen asked Sam as they walked to the hotel lobby. "You getting all aggressive again?"

"What d'ya mean? I saw you storm out and practically had to force Eric to find you. I think you owe _me_ a few answers G."

Callen shrugged, "I was after some intel from Arkady and thought he'd be more responsive if I was on my own."

"And?"

"And nothing. You saw Arkady has company so I couldn't ask him outright."

"Who were those other two?" Sam asked, referring to Viktor and Yegor.

"Russian Mafia," Callen responded. "They were talking amongst themselves in Russian and it seems that Mason's abduction is not linked to Laser weapons. Boris Kozlov was told to give up Mason's location."

"What, told to give it up to us?" Sam stopped just before the hotel entrance to face Callen.

"Don't know, probably told to give it to any American law enforcement that asked. Viktor – the older one – wants to set up a meeting with me. Reckons I could be a useful connection for them."

"I take it they know who you are?"

"Kozlov worked out I'm a Federal Agent. They don't know which agency and also think I'm corrupt," Callen chuckled to himself. "They also didn't realise I'm fluent in Russian and I think I'll keep it that way for a while."

"Just be careful you're not playing with fire," Sam warned as they continued walking to the car park. "You remember what Hetty said?"

Callen's face darkened slightly at the mention of Hetty's name. For the past twenty minutes or so, he had managed to forget about how he'd reacted to Hetty's latest update on his family history.

Sam noticed the change in Callen immediately. "What's up between you and Hetty?"

"Nothing," Callen said, reaching in his pocket for his car keys. "I'm calling it a day. Got a physio appointment tomorrow so I'll see you around 11."

Sam stared at his partner, watching as he opened the door of his silver Mercedes and eased himself into the driver's seat. The engine started with a sultry purr and without a glance back, Callen pulled out of his parking space and drove towards the exit.


End file.
